The Dust of Time

Summary: Will struggles with his conscience, while struggling with the Darkest threat he's come up against so far - his own family's memories. Will/Bran Slash.

Disclaimer: "The Dark is Rising Sequence" does not belong to me, it belongs to Susan Cooper, the amazing Goddess that she is. This is written by a fan, for the fans, and no money has exchanged hands what-so-ever. "Much Ado About Nothing" does not belong to me either, and belongs to a similarly famous Old One - William Shakespeare.


Part Four - "But For The Grace."


"Hey, look!" Barney's voice was exuberant as he yanked something out of the lower cupboard of the wallside cabinet. "This is super."

"What's super?" Jane called, sitting cross-legged against the wall, too comfortable to move and see what Barney was shrieking about. She'd been sat, amicably chatting with Bran and Will, as Will's parents had asked them to keep Will out of the way and distracted, but the task was more difficult than she could have ever imagined. There was something going on, she knew it. Normally Bran and Will had a close relationship, and were pretty much inseperable around campus and when they shared the chaos of cooking for themselves in their dingy student halls, but there was something frosty there, between them, as cool as the snow outside.

"He's found the mono-nopoly," Will said dryly, which confused Jane a little as Will wasn't in any position to see the wallside cabinet; his back was in the direction of the cabinet.

Perhaps that's the only decent thing in there, she surmised, but resolved to check it out, somehow.

"Mononopoly?" Bran's face registered confusion, and even Jane had to stop and think at the incredulity in Bran's voice. Bran's soft, melodic tones only heightened the ridiculous sound of the world.

Will flushed then, inexplicably. He looked embarrassed, and his fingers clenched for a moment in the bright red jumper he was wearing, a sure sign that whatever it was, the answer was humiliating and about Will himself. And there's another strange thing! You haven't seen Will dressed in anything but black all term. "S'what I used to call it, is all," he mumbled, barely coherent, as Barney trundled over and with a flourish deposited a worn Monopoly board on the floor between them. Barney settled down as Simon sat down next to him, clutching a small square box, in the same brown-and-cream design as the board.

Jane moved then, touched by the board, and she let her fingers graze the old cardboard, smiling as her fingers brushed the patent pending notice in the middle. This set really was something. Simon mistook her interest for a sign that she wanted to set up the board, and he pushed her the cards and pieces.

"I'm going to be the banker," Jane declared, feeling almost as if she was staking a flag on the board and claiming it as her own. Queen of all I survey, she thought, a smile quirking on her face, and as she looked up to gage the other's reactions, she caught a funny look on Will's face, as if he knew what she was thinking, and was similarly amused by it.

Flustered, she quickly set up the rest of the board, all fingers and thumbs, feeling as if a thousand people were staring at her. Her hair fell in her face, and she brushed it away, getting more and more irritated. It was like a cloud of tension was falling around her, inside her, and she felt her mood getting snappish. She shook herself slightly, as if physically shaking away the annoyance. Aren't you too old to be getting a black dog on your shoulder? something inside her asked, but it held such a note of taunting that Jane wasn't particularly sure in that moment that it had been her own internal voice asking that question.

Something inside her was waking up, something that she felt she should know, she should understand, but she couldn't. It was like... She struggled for an analogy... Like trying to run and jump onto a cloud, but the clouds always got further and further away, and...

"I'll take the iron, milady," Barney declared loudly, his hair flopping into his mouth. He blew it away, irritated, spluttering a little as Jane dumbfoundedly handed him the iron.

She was more frustrated now, as the others bickered cheerfully over who would get the racecar, and the ship, and the top hat, and the dog. She felt like she'd just stumbled upon something, upon the answer that was everything, that would tell her everything, and Barney had just interrupted her thoughts!

Calm down! Barney wasn't to know. And if it's important, it'll come back to you... Just be patient.

down

"All riiiiight!" Barney had taken it upon himself to liven up the atmosphere. His voice held the tone of a ringmaster, and Barney had exhaled, swelling his chest. "Let the gaaaaaaames begin!"

Jane smiled, picked up the dice and held them forward to Will. "Birthday boy should start, right?" She said, her voice strong with fondness for him, but she faltered as his eyes suddenly dilated, opening a little further before turning to Bran, his brow furrowed a little.

Some silent communication passed between the two, but it was small, and a stranger to them would have missed it - Will arched his eyebrows a little, Bran shrugged - but she caught it, and she knew Will must have figured something out. Something he obviously couldn't tell her.

Indignation rose in her again, and she squashed it as Will turned to her, his head turning effortlessly, and he smiled at her as if there had been no pause, taking the dice from her hands easily and throwing them down.

"There's just too many damn people in this family!"

Jane was distracted from the results of the roll, and so was everyone else as James and Mary came into the room, squabbling and with armfuls of brightly coloured sugar paper. There were a few paper chains up, so she surmised they were making some more.

"James, mind your manners. We have guests, and it's Will's birthday."

James flushed at Mary's reprimand. "Sorry. But there are!"

Barney smothered a giggle with his hand, but cupped his hand instead, which Jane knew he did to annoy her - it always made his giggles louder. At her glower, he immediately assumed his innocent-angel expression, the one that got him out of a lot of things scot-free with their parents, which was only so effective because Barney could blush on command. "Ma always thought three were enough. Wonder what she'd think of three girls and six boys!"

Jane turned her head. She didn't know why but she was expecting Will to say something, but when she looked at him, he looked so saddened that she felt sad too, but couldn't have described why or even how.

"There were seven," James said. "I'm number six, not five."

"Yeah," Mary said sadly, "Our Will is the seventh son of a seventh son. Da was one too. Well," she corrected, "he was a seventh son."

"But, unfortunately, not very psychic," James said, smirking, "otherwise he would have predicted next week's lottery numbers."

"Twelve, thirty-two, one, four, forty-eight and thirty-five," Will rattled off instantly, with a mock-superior look directed at his older brother.

James rolled his eyes. "Our very own Mystic Meg. I might just throw up." He shifted awkwardly, the load of paper in his arms teetering a little. "Any chance of a hand in carting this into the kitchen? There's another couple of boxes on the stairs."

"You know I love that you're celebrating the wonder of my birthday and all, but destroying a rainforest for me is really going above and beyond," Will said, in a jokey tone, but Jane knew Will enough (or thought she did) to know he was being a little fake about it. He looked a little tired and stressed, so she dubiously put it down to that - sharing a room with her snoring brothers was enough to make sure any normal person didn't get much sleep.

"For that," James said, "you can do it."

Will pulled a face, but got up anyway.

"We're in the middle of a game!" Bran protested. James looked pointedly down at the board, and Bran shut his mouth, instead getting to his feet. "I'll help, and then I'll be back quicker," he muttered.

"So where do you want this?" she heard Will say as he wandered off, with Bran shadowing him almost protectively, and she was reassured - that was a more normal sight for her. The two were good friends, and very protective of each other, that was natural, it was what friends are for...

"Jane?"

Simon's low, conservative voice broke through her train of thought, and she gasped quietly, realising that she was staring in the direction the Stantons plus Bran had disappeared in. "Um," she said, a little unnerved, "I'm going to see if they need any help." She got to her feet, feeling an awkwardness in her limbs that she hadn't felt since first getting growth pains. She moved to go, and then turned with a grin to the box of money, picking it up to take with her.


"Well, this didn't happen last time," Bran complained, as he bent down to pick up the paper that had showered over the floor when the sagging box he'd picked up to carry through had dissolved in his hands. Mary and James had skipped upstairs, arguing cheerfully again about the glue James had left upstairs and disappearing scissors - a chronic problem in the Stanton household - leaving them alone to pick up the disaster.

"We were further through the game last time," Will said curtly, bending down, his hair falling down, a thick barrier, shielding his face like a...

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Bran couldn't help from laughing at the thought, and Will's eyes narrowed dangerously across the carpet of bright paper.

"You've got Wizard of Oz on the brain again, haven't you?" Will accused, referring to the previous month where Bran had insisted on cheering up their dorm by singing every Wizard of Oz song.

"You know me too well. However, as for me knowing you..." There was an uncomfortable pause, and Will stilled, not wanting to hear their friendship was over, "I still can't believe you've never read The Princess Bride," Bran said, "call yourself all powerful."

"I never said I was all powerful," Will snapped back automatically, realising it was an acceptance of sorts - you're weird, but you're still my friend.

"Buttercup's Baby I can understand - that hasn't been abridged, but-"

"I wonder if I killed you and then reset time whether you'd be alive again at the beginning of the loop," Will mused out loud.

Bran froze, and all the white slid from his face, leaving him grey and gaunt. "You wouldn't."

"Want to test that theory?" Will countered. "Besides, how do you know I haven't? How do you know we haven't looped a thousand times already?"

Bran blinked three times, very quickly, but otherwise didn't move. He then turned, and purposefully flipped the lid off the colourful box still resting on the counter. Quickly removing the pouch of dust, he shoved it in his pocket and then exhaled slowly, as if having just run a marathon and survived.

He caught Will's curious glance and shrugged. "Just making sure," he said, before pulling it out again and quickly but gently checking the contents. "Still the same amount it was before I used any," Bran said, sounding relieved as he tucked it away again.

"Of course," Will said maddeningly, "in this time stream you haven't used it yet."

"But I thought you said time had repeated, not looped," Bran said.

Will sighed, and assumed a look of someone older talking to someone very young. "If you want to learn the actual mechanics of time travel, why don't we take a couple of these loops off and let me explain it to you?"

Bran screwed up his face a little. "Let's not and say we did," he suggested instead. "We could take one of them off, though." His face lit up a little, returning more to its previous colour. "Think of the possibilities! Maggie didn't remember - only me, Stephen, and-"

"Simon," Will added, helpfully.

"Right." Bran paused in the middle of whatever epiphany he'd just had. "How come it was just us that remembered?"

"I think it's because we had a physical connection during the time you threw the dust," Will said distractedly, as if it was second nature to him to understand and comprehend such things, and that it was unnatural for anyone not to. "I was touching your arm, Stephen had hold of me... Simon might have fallen or something, come into contact for the brief second..."

"Ah," Bran said. "Anyway- Like I was saying - think of the possibilities! A couple of days with no consequences, where no one would remember..."

"Can we save the philosophy for another time? When the end of the world isn't quite so imminent?" Will questioned.

"Will there be another time?"

Will sank against the table casually. "What do you mean?"

Bran moved to lean against the cooker, mimicking Will's posture. "How do I know that you won't make me forget? You haven't done it in the past, but what's to stop you from doing it now?"

"Nothing," Will admitted.

Bran tensed at the unexpected candidness of Will's response, and he turned his gaze to the kitchen tiles, clearly flumoxed. There was a long silence, as Bran's lips moved soundlessly, and Will just let the silence linger, wanting to give Bran the time to talk.

What eventually came out of Bran's mouth wasn't what he was expecting.

"You didn't make me forget, did you?"

Will felt his own face move soundlessly. "Of course not," he said.

"No," Bran said sharply, as if hurt, his gaze moving up to meet Will's. He looked angry, and every inch a king, and Will resisted the urge to step back into the table. "That's not what I meant. You didn't make me forget. Someone else did."

"What? I-"

"Don't lie to me!" Although Bran was keeping his voice down, his frenzied whisper hurt more than any shout, and Will closed his eyes, squeezing his lips together and trying to breathe quietly. "What did I forget, Will? What happened that's obviously so terrible?"

"I can't tell you," Will said quietly, miserably. "I can't."

"Will. Please."

"Bran," Will replied, just as painfully, his eyes opening to reveal a storm of tempest proportions, "please."

"Will."

For a moment, it looked as if Will was about to cave from the pressure, and then that moment passed. Will shook his head, looking for all the world like a big shaggy dog for a second as his hair flew every which way, before raising his head determinedly.

"Bran," he said simply, "no. Ask me almost anything but that."

"Don't ever make me forget."

Will looked at Bran slowly, like Bran was something new he'd never seen before. "That could be a dangerous request," he said, his voice almost like ice. He started to move, almost circling Bran, his fingertips dancing on the tablecloth as he moved.

"What do you mean?" Bran asked, before he could stop himself, almost entranced by the hypnotic smoothness of Will's step. Will was backing up now, but his fingers were still touching the tabletop.

"What if you saw your da die? Ripped into a zillion pieces right in front of you?" Will questioned, looking directly at Bran even as he moved.

Bran swallowed, but kept eye-contact with this strange, confident Will. "Is-is that what happened?"

Will laughed then, surprising Bran, not a laugh of amusement or humour, but one of derision. "Dream away, Bran Davies, and you'll never come close to the answer."

Bran tensed at this strange playful tone in Will's voice, suddenly feeling very trapped and very vulnerable. Will, his Will, round faced amiable Will, was still there... somewhere... but inside Will too was this dangerous predator circling him. He'd always suspected Will had a wild side, but this was beyond any of his expectations. And so, apparently, were his missing memories. "I see," Bran said, in a small voice. "I think if I had any choice in the matter, I would choose to remember."

Will laughed again, but this had warmth. This was amusement, tinged with the derision of before. "Bran," Will said, sounding almost delighted as he slid backwards. "Bran, Bran, Bran, Bran, Bran." Will's voice was sing-song, mocking him. "A promise from an Old One is a binding contract." His voice was smooth, cold. "You have already requested to forget once in your lifetime-"

Bran shivered.

"-yet you would have me promise never to remove your memories?" Will's voice was deadly, even as he lightly picked up the box Maggie had left and lay it on the table, his hands steadily lifting the lid and taking out the single glove while his gaze still preyed upon Bran's own.

Bran lifted his chin, trembling. "Yes."

Will clapped his hands, almost delightedly, but a sardonic look crossed his face. "Done," he said flatly, "now what the heck is this all about?"

"Huh?" Bran blinked, and then noticed Will was holding the glove Maggie had left. "What does the paper say?"

"A hint and a help from the hindrance," Will said. "And she said the pouch contained the help-"

"-which convinced me to actually use it," Bran said, a little less unnerved by this brisk, businesslike Will as opposed to the genuinely quite scary one of before. He wondered for a second if Will was schizophrenic, and then wondered if maybe he just compartmentalised things, and then he stopped wondering because it wasn't getting anyone anywhere.

"How did you know to use it?" Will asked.

Bran shrugged. "When she said the pouch contained the help, and I opened the pouch and found that dust, well, I didn't know what else to do. When it left my hand, though, I felt it swirl away from me, and knew I'd done the right thing."

"So the glove must be the hint." Will held it out. It was black and floppy, made of some soft but tough material, and quite long. Bran took it to examine, and he looked closely at the stitching and shape of it.

"It's a left glove," Bran said, handing it back.

Will blinked, and grinned sheepishly at Bran. "Hadn't noticed that."

"You really are going to lengths to prove that you're not all-powerful and all-seeing, aren't you?" Bran said confidently, more used to Will being sheepish than Will being intimidating. He wasn't so concerned with scary Will, because he'd experienced Will changing to de-caff coffee, and it wasn't pretty at all.

"Hmmm," was all that Will managed in response, as he held up the glove and squinted at it a little.

"Hey, would you look at that," Bran said softly.

"What?"

"It's got something black on it," Bran said.

"Does it-" Will started, before flushing again. "Moron."

"English boy."

"That is what I am," Will said, but with a slightly miffed expression now on his face which Bran took as a sign Bran had well and truly put him off guard. That relaxed Bran more than anything, and left him entirely unwary around Will. Will might have this strange other-worldly power and memories that he didn't, but he was still vulnerable to Bran. It gave him a strange thrill of power that moved him more than anything. Will wasn't as vulnerable in front of anybody else.

Will gave a small shrug, smiled quickly at Bran, inhaled slowly as if about to do something dangerous, and yanked on the glove quickly. By the quirk of Will's eyebrows, Bran assumed that Will had expected something to happen when he put it on.

"It's just a glove," Will said, disappointed.

"Then it must be a hint in some other way," Bran said, matter-of-factly. "Try pulling it all the way down."

Will nodded, and rolled up the left arm of his jumper, so that he could pull the glove down. "It's a perfect fit," he noted, rolling it over the seared mandala on his left wrist, reddened and twisting across the slightly protuding veins. "It covers the sign. Maybe it's a hint to hide who I am... but that doesn't make sense, because that's what I was doing before."

"Maybe then it's a hint to tell everyone who you are, then," Bran said, reasonably.

Will pulled a face. "Do you think?"

"Why, yes, almost every second," Bran said, teasingly.

"Almost?"

Bran gave Will a complimentary birthday bump for that.

"Come on," Bran said. "Your surprise birthday party is soon."

Will pulled a face as he got up, putting the lid back on the birthday present box and sliding it under the table, before pulling off the glove and pocketing it. Bran moved to the door first, and he pushed it open, only to jump at the sight of Jane, holding the box of money.

"Hey, was just coming to fetch you," Jane said quickly, a smile quickly sliding onto her face.

"We were just coming," Will said, "good timing." Bran edged a look at Will to see if he was suspicous at the timing, but Will's face was carefully blank.

"What's with the portable bank?" Bran decided to ask.

"The- Oh!" Jane went a little pink. "Barney has a history of cheating. I'd count your money when you get back, too."

They walked quickly back to the board, and the game almost thrummed with impatience, as if it knew it should have been started already. Jane set the box down, and then chewed at her lower lip.

"Actually, do you mind if I don't play?" Jane asked.

Will looked at her sharply. "Why?"

"Don't feel up to it," she mumbled lamely, "headache."

"We've got some paracetamol in the kitchen," Will said equably. "Come on."

Bran knew that Jane had overheard by the way she suddenly went pale.

"Oh, go on," Barney wheedled, putting on a puppy-dog expression.

"Okay," Jane mumbled, brushing down her skirt as she got to her feet, glancing accusingly at Barney as she followed Will to the kitchen.

Bran swallowed his uneasiness, and masked it by swiftly dividing out a handful of hundreds each to himself, Simon and Barney.


"I don't really have a headache, so you can stop looking for tablets," Jane announced quietly as soon as the door had swung shut. Will stilled, his hand on the cupboard, as his eyes searched her face for an indication of her mood.

Her light eyes were dark with confusion, and her hand was currently twisted in a strand of brown hair. She was nervously playing with it; a definite "tell" that she was unnerved but was prepared to ride out whatever it was.

"What did you overhear?" Will asked, straight-out.

"I've heard you and Bran joke about some crazy things in the last few months," Jane said softly, her voice strong and unwavering. She hadn't heard much, but the thing she had caught was disturbing. "Fainting goats, zombies, dancing hamsters- and I really don't get that Internet thing you're both fond of, or your weekly Indiana Jones marathons, or either of your tastes in music, but- Time loops? You somehow having the power to make people forget? Will, what on earth is going on? Are we somehow stuck in the movie Groundhog Day?"

Will looked as if he was about to answer, but the last question caught him off guard. "Groundhog Day?" He asked, clearly baffled.

"It was a movie, about a day repeating itself over and over," Jane explained quickly.

"Ah," Will said.

Jane waited for more, but when it was obvious Will wasn't about to volunteer anything, she sighed. "Will," she said, "I thought I was supposed to be your best friend. You, me and Bran - we always said we could face anything together. So come on. Tell me."

Will sighed, and casually looked down at his fingernails. "All right. I suppose I had better tell you the truth." Clattering noises from upstairs started to grow louder. "But not here. Outside."

Jane nodded, making no protest that it was snowing; mutely following him outside, and around the corner of the house. The hairs on the back of her neck had risen, and she felt even more nervous than the first exam they'd had a few weeks earlier.

Will was facing the landscape, and she looked in the direction he was looking. It was a large hill, streaking upwards to meet the sky. It was pretty, but nothing overly remarkable, not like the Chiltern hills which she thought were much prettier.

"Bran and I knew there was a possibility someone would overhear," Will said eventually. He slid down, his back to the wall, and ended up staring at the same point on the horizon as he balanced his hands on his knees. "Over the last few months we've developed some... euphemisms... to certain subjects that are... sensitive."

Jane followed his movement to sit next to him. She sat with her legs underneath her, facing him, barely feeling either the snow on the ground or the flakes falling gently on her face, like dust. "Subjects you don't discuss with me."

"You can't get in a bad mood over that concept alone," Will said, chiding her gently. "I bet there's stuff you and Clare talk about that you don't talk with me and Bran about," he added, referring to one of Jane's closer friends on the course.

"That sounded serious, is all," Jane semi-mumbled, moving her gaze back to the lonely hillside where Will's gaze was still trained. "And you mentioned Simon, too. Where my brother is concerned, I have a right to know."

Will nodded slowly. "All right. The first week of term, your whole family stayed to help you move in."

"Yes," Jane said, puzzled, "wh-"

"Please just listen," Will said, and his voice sounded strained. Jane fell mute in surprise. "Simon approached me the last day of the week, and threatened none-too-softly that were I ever to hurt you, he would kill me."

"Oh, god," Jane said quietly, stunned by mortification into speech.

"Yeah," Will said, nodding, but defiantly looked away from her as he said, "He also said you had feelings for me, and that if I did not feel the same way I should be gentle with you."

Jane was too stunned by mortification to even speak.

"So I told him that I think of you as a dear friend, the dearest friend I've ever had. Ever since that first holiday we had together, I knew you were special, but-"

"-you're not in love with me," Jane finished ruefully, her chest feeling a little tight, and her voice a little giddy.

"I'm sorry," Will said frankly, still looking away from her.

"So that's why he's so frosty with you?" Jane questioned, knowing her brothers could be protective, but unsure of why Simon was that bad.

"I told him exactly why I couldn't love you... that way," Will said, a small smile curving his face. "Jane, I never wanted to hurt you, you have to understand that. But I can't pretend I'm something I'm not. I-"

"You're gay," Jane said, realising. She blinked.

"You're not surprised?" Will turned his face to hers, finally, and she noticed he looked frightened, as if expecting her to hurt him for not telling her.

"A little," Jane admitted. "Everything makes a little more sense now, though..."

"What do you mean by that?" Will demanded hotly.

"The Cher CDs on your desk?" Jane said teasingly.

"Wench," he muttered, as she laughed. "You're not mad, though, right?"

Jane pretended to deliberate for a long time on that one, leaving him hanging. "I'm a little hurt, of course, that you didn't tell me... but I understand," she added quickly, seeing him move to protest. "I could never be mad at you for long, Will Stanton," she said softly.

"I might remind you of that in the future," he said, smiling at her. She smiled back, and he turned away, staring back at the hill, all nature's sound muffled by the gently falling snow.

Jane opened her mouth to speak, but then noticed movement in the corner of her eye. She edged a small look to see Bran, crouched at the corner of the house and watching them with his strange, bird-like eyes. It was obvious that he'd only just gotten there. Her bland statement saying that they should probably get into the house was swallowed by a sudden burst of perception, a truth that made itself painfully clear in that exact instance.

"Don't lie to me, Will," she warned, "but I have one more thing to ask."

Will seemed unaware of Bran's presence as he continued to stare at the snowy horizon. He nodded slowly, his face tense. Jane edged a speculative glance up at Bran, who seemed to be holding his breath, before turning back to Will. The whole atmosphere felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for something, until she said, "You're in love with Bran, aren't you?"

Jane held her own breath, anxiously waiting for a reaction from Will. He seemed to have frozen, and his blue-green eyes were still. Eventually he closed his eyes, and his head seemed to sag forward, and she instinctively swivelled around and grabbed him into a hug as he bent his head into her neck. Any hurt that she still felt over him not trusting her enough to come out to her earlier was washed away by the surge of protectiveness she felt holding onto him as his body shook soundlessly.

She grasped onto Will harder as she turned to look up at Bran, who looked like someone had whipped the entire world from beneath his feet and yet he was still standing. A thousand emotions flew over Bran's face, so quickly that she could not decipher them. Bran put a hand to the wall, as if finding it hard to stand.

"Will?" Jane asked, turning back to her charge, feeling his trembling still under her hands.

"'By my troth," Will murmured, "it is no addition to his wit, nor no great argument of his folly..." He swallowed hard, pulling away from her now, looking up at her face, searching for the strength inside of himself to answer, and his eyes slid shut again as he tremblingly finished the quasi-paraphrase, "for I will be horribly in love with him."

"Will," she said, putting an ocean of feeling into his name, empathy for his pain, and such sadness, as it was obviously the first time he'd admitted it to himself, for he looked scared, like the wind could blow him away. "Only you could admit such a thing by quoting Shakespeare," she said, eliciting a grin from him even as he fought back his emotions.

"Yeah, only me," Will murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, god, no, don't be," Jane said, suddenly feeling the cold and getting to her feet, pulling Will up with her, "admitting something like that shouldn't be a sad occasion. Love is a happy thing."

From the way he looked at her then, she suddenly doubted herself. "Is it?"

"Well," Jane started, defensively, "yes," she finished defiantly, and then remembered with horror that Bran was still standing there, and how would Will take it... She twisted her head tentatively to look, but Bran had gone. Only a few marks in the snow remained to show someone had stood there.


When they returned inside, Jane took one look at Barney's face and folded her arms over her chest. "You can put that money back in the bank," she said, mock-seriously.

"Aw, Jane!"

"Don't aw, Jane me," Jane scolded, moving with Will over to the board and sitting down. Bran, Barney and Simon slowly handed over the extra money they'd pilfered from the box, grumbling. "All of it, Barney," Jane added, as Barney reached under the board and pulled out a secreted 500 note.

"Right, children," Bran said brightly, "shall we begin?"

The game was a lot more raucous this time. Jane watched Will's face more carefully, and the fog around him seemed to have been lifted, as he smiled and joked more fluidly than he had since she'd known him. It must have been carrying around something like that that did it, Jane said, full of sympathy for him. She marvelled at how she was holding up for a moment - for all the times she'd imagined Will finally noticing her, all the times she'd dreamt that the small gestures and smiles her way had meant more, she'd never thought that knowing it would be impossible for them to be together would be so... so easy.

And Bran - Bran must have heard Will's declaration, but he was acting as if he'd been sat there the whole time, and not heard a thing. It was possible, she supposed, for Bran to have left before hearing the answer, but even the question ought to have made some impact on him.

She was so distracted that she lost quickly, and no one made any protest at all when Mary quickly nabbed her to help fix up the barn for the party.


"So," Will said heavily, in an even more pantomime-ish tone this time around, "Jane's fallen down in here, has she?"

Bran rolled his eyes at Will's behaviour.

"Act surprised," Barney hissed, trying to be helpful.

Will hefted the first aid tin up onto his left arm, smirked at Bran, and he elbowed the door open with his right hand. "Hallo?"

"SURPRISE!"

The lights flickered on a good five seconds before the shout, and Will quickly stared into the bright lamps overhead, remembering that it helped him last time look surprised. The jab from Barney helped too.

Dutifully he scanned the barn again, noting the banners and streamers and balloons coating the walls in their bright gaiety, in their shining, rainbow spread. Fairy lights were strung over the beams, and a table laden with an impressive array of buffet food literally lined one wall. A table piled high with gifts was next to the door, underneath a banner saying "Happy 18th birthday Will!"

Will inwardly winced. Having to pretend to be surprised by every present again was going to be tough.

"So, we're in a time warp, eh?" Will commented with a smile. Beside him, Bran coughed a little, and he grinned as Stephen spluttered a little.

"Happy birthday, Will," Mrs. Stanton said, coming forwards, before registering what he'd just said. "Time warp?"

"As in it's astounding, time is fleeting, I'm nineteen," Will said, laughing at the banner. Mrs. Stanton flushed.

"We can cancel the party and pull it down, if you'd like," she suggested, pulling him into a hug.

"Or not," Will suggested.


"...and leg warmers! Thanks, Aunty Heather, they're fab," Will was currently enthusing over the hand-knitted objects that had tumbled out of the latest present he was wrapping. Bran looked up at Stephen over the plastic cup of fruit juice he was nursing, and they shared a secret smile. Last time, Will had gotten tongue-tied and confused when he couldn't figure out what the items were.

"Knitted them myself," Will's Aunty Heather replied, beaming with pride, her round cheeks pink. "I remembered in your letter that you said your dorms were cold."

"Thanks," Will said again, smiling as he leant over the table and hugged her. It was a much better reaction than before, when she had slid into the chair and sulked until Robin and Paul had dragged her out to tango.

"Here, open this one," James said, pushing a neatly wrapped blue parcel in Will's direction. "It was hiding under some of the wrapping."

"Who's it from?" Mary asked, as Will took it in surprise.

Bran shuffled uncomfortably. Last time he had not sat so close for the unwrapping of the presents, and he hadn't noticed his gift had been missed the first time around. Will took it, ran his fingers over the FRAGILE notice written on it, and then opened the card. Bran was surprised when Will blinked, surprised. He must have just figured out he'd missed it the first time round, too.

"Me," Bran said helpfully, as Will started to carefully unwrap it, making sure not to tear the sellotape. Bran knew what was in the box, so he watched Will's face for his reaction. An instant, genuine grin flew over Will's face as he took out the box and opened it, and promptly held forth a lightbulb.

"A lightbulb?" Mrs. Stanton was confused, but pleased that Will found it so amusing. "What-"

"It's a reference to an ongoing joke at uni, because Will somehow manages to get out of changing lightbulbs in their flat," Jane explained. "You know how in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy the answer to life, the universe and everything is forty-two? Well, Bran and I found the real question."

"Indeed we did," Bran intoned solemnly. There was a pause as everyone waited for the answer. Or, indeed, the question. "How many Stantons does it take to change a lightbulb?"

Raucous laughter broke out in the large barn, swelling to the rafters.

"It's not as if I don't buy them, too," Will started to protest, until he felt the room trembling and his skin prickling at the sensation. His eyes flew to Stephen's, whose mouth fell open in realisation. The terror of the impending doom washed around him, and it was again like a heavy water was in his ears - he couldn't hear anything. His relatives were all leaning closer, looking worried, and Bran was clutching the tablecloth, mouthing what looked like 'now?' so Will nodded and Bran flew upwards from his seat, bringing out the pouch of dust and sliding it under his sleeve so it was easily accessible.

Silence smacked Will when the onslaught of terror ended, and he pushed himself away from the table. Grabbing Stephen, he had time to whisper, "whatever happens, make sure you're touching Bran when he uses the dust," before the floor physically trembled and the room was plunged into darkness.

"NOTHING'S IMPOSSIBLE, OLD ONE. YOU OF ALL PEOPLE SHOULD KNOW THIS."

The voice thundered out, soothing Will a little that the Dark hadn't been reading his mind the first time around - they'd only predicted what he would be thinking. The Dark didn't know time had been repeated, and Will did not want to let go of that advantage any time soon. It was possibly the only advantage he had, after all.

The lights flickered back on. Lining the hall was an army of dark robed figures, all with cowls and hoods covering their faces. The words thudded painfully through the air. The figures stepped forwards in unison, and everyone else present backed off the chairs, heading towards the centre of the hall, banding together. Will felt Stephen's hand on his elbow, and caught Bran's fierce golden-eyed stare, and felt strenghthened by their presence.

"Who are you and what do you want!" Roger Stanton's voice rang out firmly.

"WE ARE INEVITABLE." One of the cowled figures stepped forwards and threw off his hood.

"Mr. Mitothin!" Mrs. Stanton gasped in recognition.

"Mitothin. What the hell's going on?"

"I've come for the Old One," Mr. Mitothin intoned, his voice low but so crystal clear it cut through the air, tearing it into ribbons.

"Speak English, man," Roger returned, his voice edgy as he realised he had no control over the situation.

Will knew that playing the defensive position hadn't helped last time, and he surreptitiously curled his hand behind his back, running through words of power in his head.

"YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE, OLD ONE. SURRENDER, OR WE KILL ALL YOUR FAMI- GAAARGH!"

Will stepped forward, hurling a ball of fire at Mitothin. Unprepared for an offensive attack, Mitothin stumbled backwards, and then Will stepped back, waving his hands openly to create the shield this time, of glowing light.

Mitothin screamed in agony and astonishment, and barked a rough command in a language that felt like corrosive acid as it slid into the air. The cowled figures flung their arms out, and dark energy coursed through the air towards them. It battered into the light shield, knocking Will back with the backlash, but he stayed upright. He felt Bran and Stephen holding him up, now, and inwardly cursed - he was all right, he shouldn't have appeared so weak so soon to the enemy!

"CAN YOU TAKE DOUBLE OUR POWER, WATCHMAN OF THE LIGHT?"

Will cried out softly, sagging in their grasp, as the dark energy intensified. The light shield sputtered, losing power. Will fell to the ground, and Stephen and Bran knelt down with him. Seeing this, Mitothin lifted up one hand, and the Dark attacks stopped too.

Mitohin's voice changed again, to that of the posh man they'd known before. "Couldn't cope, could you watcher? All alone, and you can't cope. I could kill any of your family, and you'd be powerless to stop me. For example, I remember your sister Mary was quite pretty. Still is, from what I see. A pity she will die, then." Mary gasped in terror as Mitothin lifted up his arm. Black energy lanced through the air. Roger Stanton pelted forwards, but too late. His eyes widened in horror as the energy crackled through the air towards his youngest daughter.

"NO!"

Will surged to his feet, and a white barrier surrounded Mary, protecting the shocked girl. He stared in anger at Mitothin, anger bubbling under his skin as Mitothin sneered and stepped forwards.

"Now!" Stephen hissed, his hands tightening on Will's arm, and Bran obediently nodded, pulling out the pouch and delving his hand into it. Mitothin's eyes widened upon recognition of the pouch, and he screamed in defiance, his arms forming a shape in the air, and Dark energy lanced towards Will's heart in a lethal arrow of energy, and Bran managed to throw dust from the pouch the same time as the energy hit Will. Dust like find sand swirled outwards from Bran's fingers and Mitohin's scream of rage filled his ears, but all Will knew was red and black across his vision, and a high pitched sound of laughter, and heat, and pain, and everything disappeared from around him, and he squeezed his eyes shut and the feeling of Stephen's hand on his arms fell away until it all became cold and pink...

Wait a second, cold?

Will's eyes snapped open, and he pushed himself off the mantle as fast as he could. Still dizzy from the disorientation, he fell to the carpet, and pain seared across his vision. Inhaling slowly, he pushed himself up, blinking for a moment as he willed the pain to go away. The first time the aching had stopped after a moment, but his chest still felt tight.

He put it down to the effects of the dust, and quickly moved through to the kitchen, barely recognising that his mother was heading out to the chickens in her heavy overcoat, and he had to catch himself as he staggered to the door and almost fell.

Something's wrong, his mind whispered, but he forced himself to stay upright as he opened the door. Colours swirled in front of him, and he cried out softly as the floor fell away and his body hit the gravel before he could stop it.

"Will!"

"What's happened?"

"

"What's wrong?"

"Call an ambulance!"

Will felt urgent hands on him, and he whimpered as he tried to open his eyes. Eyes like a hawk peered down at him, and his vision cleared to see everyone crowding around him. He screamed out as Bran touched his chest, and then realised why as Bran pulled his hands away, and Will thought that memory might stay in his mind forever: those gentle, pale hands covered in Will's own blood, the crimson stark against the white.

Bran stumbled back in horror, and Will faintly recognised his mother, holding his hand tightly, and she said, "What happened, Will?" as calmly as she could manage. Will tried to reach inside himself for words that would explain it, but the apparent hopelessness of the situation choked him. "I don't know," he said. Tears started to fall, hot from his cheeks, splashing and mixing with his blood. "I really don't know," he added, miserably, curling up from the pain, unaware even to himself whether he was answering her question or admitting his own weakness: that against this power, alone, last of the Old Ones, with no signs or items of power, he did not know what to do... or whether there was anything he even could do.


To be continued.