Immortality's Gift (The Alternate Version)
Apologies: Sorry this one's taken so long to get written. The Muses and Real Life just would not cooperate!
A/N: A slight warning on this part! It is a bit more graphic than I normally write in one or two sections, but it was the only way to get across what was needed. That's all I'm saying.
Dedication: This part goes out to Zantac the Barbarian for the reminder that I still have dedicated fans out there waiting for me to finish this story. A special thanks as well to all of you whom favorited, noticed, or reviewed this or any of my other stories during this last stretch of inactivity. You have no idea how happy those made me to unexpectedly see them in my email inbox. Thank you!
Music Recommendation: Heh, yeah, whenever you read the parts with CassRia, I recommend you listen to S.J. Tucker's song "Snake Star Song." It'll really set the mood.
Part 26: The S**t Hits the Fan
It was three in the afternoon on the outskirts of Sunnydale, when a strange occurrence for those not aware of the supernatural happened.
In front of the sign that read "Welcome To Sunnydale," the air suddenly rippled before stretching and expanding until a man-sized hole had opened. Through this hole could be seen a forested glade and a small old-world cottage, before a strange-looking woman stepped through the opening, arm stiffly extended before her. As the portal closed behind her and the area returned to its normal state, the woman staggered unexpectedly, her skin and eyes changing from blue to brown and back almost too swiftly for the human eye to catch.
As Illyria straightened back up, she growled lowly, then snapped out to no one, "You will not have control that easily, Immortal!"
Cassandra's shock was evident as she protested from within their body, "I didn't do anything!"
"A likely story," the demon sneered while she stepped on and over the sign in front of her as though it were not even there.
As they followed the road into Sunnydale, Cassandra said, "It is most likely that our body is still adjusting."
"There is nothing to adjust to," Illyria stated coldly. "That which was used to make my return possible would not allow for such error."
"Really?" Cassandra commented dryly. "Then explain to me why this body is still alive and working, when it should be dead and hollow?"
Silence was the demon's only response as they continued towards the town.
Just as they were reaching the first buildings, the Immortal suggested to the Old One, "It might be a good idea to disguise yourself before anyone sees you. We do stand out in our current appearance, and if we wish to catch Methos unawares, we'll need to blend in better."
Illyria stopped in her tracks, a look of supreme annoyance on her face, as she stated then snapped out loud, "I grow weary of your chatter, Immortal. Cease speaking!"
There was a moment of silence before Cassandra responded in irritation, "I'm just trying to help! The more human we look, the easier it will be to find him. We'll be able to hide our true nature better, and will be able to catch Methos before he realizes that someone is searching for him."
Expression cross, Illyria stood still while the armor-like bodysuit she wore morphed into a blue low-cut blouse, dark blue jeans and sensible walking shoes. Simple but elegant jewelry appeared about her neck and wrists. Her skin then returned to a normal human coloring, as did her eyes. The blue streaks remained in their hair.
"Do you find this satisfactory, Immortal," the demon snarled.
Knowing this was as close as she was going to get on her counterpart cooperating, Cassandra answered simply, "Yes."
"Good."
With that one word, the reborn Old One stalked further into town. Silence reigned between them.
They had just entered the beginnings of the warehouse district in Sunnydale when they faintly heard voices ahead. Following the sound, they soon found themselves walking in a labyrinth of warehouses...a familiar thing for one such as Cassandra. As they walked, the voices became clearer; and from what the Immortal heard, it seemed as though they had stumbled upon a meeting of one of the gangs in town planning to ambush another gang. As she realized this, she only had one thought in her mind, This could go very badly.
Little did she know how right her thought was.
Minutes later, they stepped into a clearing between warehouses where a building had once been, and stopped walking. The smell of ash was faint in the area, even to their senses. A quick surveillance showed about thirty people grouped together in the corner farthest from them, deep shadows from the nearby buildings covering the group. Their predominantly red clothing kept them visible, though.
By this time, one of the gang that seemed on lookout spotted them, and whistled, before saying, "Yo, look at this fox! Looks like she's stepped onto the wrong side of town. What do ya think, should we have some fun with her?"
Most of the group looked up and over to the Immortal Old One at those words. Illyria tilted their head to one side, and said in a voice that projected to the gang easily, "I seek the location of someone. You will tell me where he is."
"We won't tell you anything, fox or not," a voice shouted from near the back of the group. "You're not one of us!"
The reborn Old One's eyes narrowed in displeasure, and demanded as she slowly began to stalk forward, "You will tell me where the Immortal called Methos is, and you shall do so now!"
The gang had cleared a path between the one whom had last spoken and the demon, revealing to Illyria's senses that the man was a vampire. The vampire sneered at them as they came level with the group and said scornfully, "You purposefully bein' stupid, bitch, or were you born that way? We ain't answerin' nothin'! Now you better show us proper respect, or we'll paint ya our color in your own blood."
By this time, Illyria had reached the vampire. Her eyes were cold as she stared at the man, causing him to shift minutely in sudden unease. In the next moment, her hand shot out and wrapped around the vampire's throat, before lifting him up to hang in the air by said appendage.
In a voice that was as deadly as it was matter-of-fact, Illyria stated as her eyes slowly began to turn blue, "I do not take orders from half-breeds."
The sound of many guns cocking could be heard in the sudden silence. For several tense seconds, no one moved.
Before anyone could react, Illyria whirled around in a circle and threw the vampire in her hand out into the center of the vacant lot where the bright sunlight shone down unhindered. Quickly scrambling to his feet, the man stared frantically about himself, looking for the quickest route to shadow, and swore.
"Fuck!"
Starting to smoke, he ran towards his fellow gang members. Before he could reach them, flames consumed him. Prior to him becoming nothing but ash, he shouted, "Kill the bitch!"
The dust had not even settled when they opened fire.
The first few bullets struck Illyria, causing her to twitch in irritation. The next few caused her to snarl in annoyance. The ninth she caught in her hand to gaze at it. As the fifteenth bullet attempted to pierce her eye, she growled low in her throat, and began to take an active part in her supposed destruction.
The growl became a roar as the Old One thrust out her hands to either side of her, the air suddenly rippling all around her as the gang seemed to suddenly be moving in extreme slow-motion, the bullets now visible as they inched through the air.
Moving to get out of the way of more bullets, and knocking others away with her arms, Illyria grabbed two of her foes in this moment, and threw them over her shoulders. The fight would be over before they would strike the ground hard enough to shatter their arms, legs, and hips on one side and break half their ribs. They would later commit suicide, rather than live with the pain of their injuries.
Stepping into the crowd, the Old One dropped to the ground and swept her leg out and around her, breaking the lower legs of those whom she struck. They would always walk with limps after they healed. Those eight would be the lucky ones.
Rising once more to her feet, she stepped through her defeated foes to reach out and grasp the guns of the two before her. She crushed the guns and the hands holding them before moving on. The doctors that operated on them would find it impossible to separate the metal from flesh and resort to amputation later.
The next four would soon find themselves sailing backwards in the air to suddenly slam into the warehouses behind them. They would be unconscious for three months from the concussions they received, and all but one would be wheelchair-bound for the rest of their lives. The one who wasn't would become mentally impaired from the trauma to his brain. As Illyria stepped out of the circle of gang members, time resumed at a normal pace.
Bullets pierced flesh, killing four and incapacitating seven. Only one remained standing unharmed.
That one stood rooted in place as he watched Illyria slowly turn around to survey the destruction she had taken part in. As she did this, he slowly lowered his gun with a shaking hand, the lone gang member's breath heaving with adrenalin and shock. She then looked at him with inhuman eyes.
His gun had not even touched the ground when he turned and ran. He did not hear the scornful words said by Illyria over the pounding of his blood as he fled.
"You dare think to escape me?"
Just as he reached the entrance to one of the warehouses, the man found himself flat on the ground; face first, with a foot planted firmly on his back. His nose was broken and beginning to bleed profusely from the force of his landing. He could barely breathe from the pressure upon his back. From above, the man heard a variation of the question which had started this whole mess.
"Where is the Immortal Methos?"
Scrabbling at the ground in a vain hope of finding something to help him out of this situation, he gasped out, "Don't...know!"
Just as his hand clamped around a jagged rock and hope filled his wildly beating heart, a feminine hand grabbed the arm attached to that hand and with casual ease yanked his arm back. The snapping of bone was easily heard over his choked scream. The pressure on his back grew intolerable as Illyria hissed out, "You lie!"
Shaking from the beginning stages of shock, ribs cracking and breaking, he screamed out, "Not!"
The release of weight was so sudden that all he had time for was a sharp gasp of painful air, before finding himself upright and face-to-face with the reborn Old One. Their eyes locked, and he froze, all thoughts of struggling and freeing himself gone.
The weight of untold eons of life lived glimmered darkly within her gaze as she declared, "Then I have no further use for you, muck."
With those words, the demon released her prey, watching indifferently as he fell to the ground in an agonized heap, before turning and leaving just as the sound of sirens became audible to the conscious injured.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"We've got to find some way to rein him in, or he's going to cause all sorts of trouble," Angel said as he leaned back in his seat at the research table at the Magic Box, while Buffy rested her head on his shoulder from her seat beside him. Those within the shop had just finished explaining to the souled vampire what had just happened about an hour ago with Quentin Travers, and to say he was not happy was an understatement.
"The problem is that Quentin's so full of himself, that even if we bring him down a peg or two, it won't change anything," Methos said almost absently from where he was hunched over his laptop, as Dawn watched and read over his shoulder in avid interest as he searched the internet for what he wanted to know. A hand rested on his left shoulder where she leaned over the Immortal, neither seemed to notice.
Giles came down the steps from the second level, a book in hand, as he said, "The difficulty with Travers is that he has a long memory, and that no matter what we do, he will take offense from it. He will then do what he can to make our lives more difficult than what it already is."
"No kidding," Faith muttered from where she sat opposite the others, her feet resting on the table as she leaned her chair back at an angle. A small knife was in her hand that she was using to clean her fingernails.
"Why don't we just tell him to leave," Dawn asked as she straightened up and took a seat beside Methos, before adding, "All the reasons for him sticking around are gone. There's no Immortal or demon wanting to open the Hellmouth, and there's a Slayer here to cover any troubles."
"Our reasons might be done, but whatever his are aren't," Buffy contributed morosely.
"Then we'll just have to convince him staying isn't worth it," Dawn said stubbornly with some exasperation. "Come on, Buffy! Where's the Slayer that told the whole Council to go take a hike the last time they were here, huh? According to Whistler we're no longer a part of that group, and we just need to make sure that they don't take their frustrations out on Faith because of it."
As Buffy gawked at her daughter in shock and anger, Faith snorted, before saying as her chair shifted into an upright position as she put her feet on the floor and sheathed her knife, "The brat's right, B. You're acting like your favorite pet got run over and died. Where's the Slayer that wouldn't take 'no' for an answer? That man respects positions of power over actions. Show him that you're more powerful than him and won't take his crap, and he'll back off."
As Buffy sat ramrod straight in her seat, sputtering in affronted protest, Angel sighed, and said, "We're starting to talk in circles here. Why don't we leave this alone. Knowing our luck, the solution will just jump into our laps when we're least expecting it."
"As much as I may wish not to, I must agree with Angel," Giles said as he placed his book down on the table by Dawn, where she eagerly scooped it up. "Travers, in the long run, is nothing more than a nuisance, and should be treated accordingly. He knows, even if he will not accept it, who is truly in charge here. In the end, he'll leave, knowing there's nothing for him to do. We just need to endure his presence until then."
"Nice speech, Giles," Willow said with faint humor, causing the others to turn and look at the wicca, to see her and Tara now standing behind Giles.
Taking off his glasses and wiping them, the Watcher stuttered out, "W-willow, I assume that your presence means that you've adjusted the wards, then?"
Tara nodded, as Willow said chirpily, before adding with some exasperation, then calmly, "Yep! Although, we didn't quite appreciate having to do those wards twice in one day. That was a little bit draining. I guess we should be glad that we thought of how to change them before we put them up the first time."
"Something that we do appreciate, ladies," Methos commented as he leaned back in his seat while folding his arms in front of him. "Out of curiosity, what did you do to the wards?"
Willow looked at Giles, and asked curiously, "You didn't tell them?"
The Watcher shook his head, then answered while putting his glasses back on, "I haven't had the opportunity yet."
"What're you guys talking about," Buffy inquired.
"When Tara and I were designing the wards, we thought it might be a good idea to make it possible for us to change who or what might activate them," Willow explained as she pushed a few strands of hair behind an ear. "That way, we could include and exclude people as needed as well as how they reacted to certain things."
"Like Spike," Tara added quietly. "The wards sense the aura, intent, and emotions of those in its range. If a certain combination of those three are reached in a person, then they'll be considered a danger and we'll be alerted. If a person only matches one or two of those three, they'll be a lesser threat. In objects, it'll detect its aura and how it's used. But, as I was saying, Spike'll always be considered a mild threat, unless he truly means us harm, then the ward'll trigger." She gestured to the silent and softly glowing red crystal dragon on the bookshelf overhead. "You can already see they're working by how they're reacting to Angel's presence."
As everyone looked at the statue, Methos said, "I assume, then, that were we in true danger, that they would act like they did when Quentin was here."
Tara nodded agreement.
"Yeah," Willow interjected, "and it'll cause a red glow to appear around the danger to those who need to see it. We're also working on placing the wards on something that can be worn for personal safety. We've had too much stuff happen to us not to do that. We haven't gotten there yet, but we were able to link the fixed wards to a wearable item to warn of danger in that spot. You'll also know who the danger is, too, and how much of a threat, which is a lot more detailed than the general warning you'd normally get."
Tara pulled a simple hemp bracelet out of one of the pockets in her skirt, and handed it to Giles, explaining, "This one's linked to the shop."
The Watcher nodded as he took the bracelet and slipped it on. A moment later, his eyebrows rose in startlement, then he frowned as he glanced at Angel, before leveling his gaze on Methos.
Making a What-Can-You-Expect gesture with his hands, the ancient Immortal said deprecatingly, "Think of what you know of my past, Watcher, before you say anything."
Giles' frown turned into a scowl for a second, then he reluctantly nodded agreement, before remarking as he glanced at everyone, "I find it interesting that we are all registering to some extent to the wards."
"Even me," Dawn asked, surprised.
The Watcher nodded, causing the teenager to glare at nothing in particular.
"Think about your own history, Dawnie," Buffy commented dryly, "and you'll realize how crazy that question was."
The youngest Slayer's glare went to the eldest Slayer for that comment. After a pause, she shook her head, and said grumpily, "As much fun as we're having here, is there anything we really need to talk about? If not, I wanna go home and eat. I'm starving."
The two older Slayers looked at each other at that comment knowingly. They understood exactly what the younger girl was implying and hadn't even realized yet about being a Slayer.
Willow bore a startled expression for a moment, before saying in answer to the previous question, "Oh! Yeah, there is." She ignored Dawn's groan, and continued. "Before we started working on the wards at our place, a special report came on the news...just after your call Giles. Anyway, in the old warehouse district where one of the buildings had burned down a few years back, one of the gangs in town got into a gunfight with themselves it looks like, but not. They had injuries that the police officer they were interviewing couldn't begin explaining. Just as they were about to sign off, one of the gang members was carried by raving about someone that he didn't see moving and shoulda been dead from all the bullets they used. The officer told them to shut off the camera at that point or be arrested for interference of an investigation."
A tense and uneasy silence descended after that.
"A demon," Dawn asked hesitantly.
"What demon's immune to bullets, though," Faith inquired.
"A demon with magic," was Buffy's tentative reply.
"No," Methos corrected, "demons that use magic will rely on magic before strength, and what Willow's describing is someone who used brute force and incredible speed, and apparently has a very hard exterior or able to withstand excessive amounts of pain."
"Great, so the Superman of demons," Dawn muttered while slouching in her seat.
"But even Superman had weaknesses," Willow inputted. Off of everyone's looks, she shrugged a shoulder and said with no embarrassment, "What? About the only thing as a kid I could get Xander to read were comics."
"The real question we should be asking," Tara pointed out quietly, "is if this demon is really a threat. For all we know, the only reason this demon attacked them was through a misunderstanding."
"Pretty big whopping misunderstanding, if you ask me," Faith scoffed, earning a glare from Willow.
"Tara's correct," Giles interjected while busily wiping his glasses once more. "Unless something else happens, we should be cautiously hopeful that this demon will do nothing else and go on its way to wherever it needs to be."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Tara entered the Starbucks in town, her mind not really focused on what she was doing as she attempted to concentrate on keeping her aura reading ability from overwhelming her. It had been just under two weeks since she had been freed from the Glory-induced insanity, and only a week within that time since she started associating with people that weren't Willow again. It was hard, and she was having to rebuild her protections around that ability once more. They were not yet where they should be, but with her lover's help, she was getting there.
It did not help, though, when whenever she looked at someone, she Saw more than she was used to when her defenses were at full strength...specially with those that she associated with and were supernatural. Adam Pierson was a good example of this. She had never encountered an aura of such complexity and power. Ancient, he most assuredly was, yet the most "grey" of any person she'd met so far. Even Giles paled in comparison. She could only assume that he had been both good and evil in his time. And considering how Whistler interacted with him, he was on the side of good right now.
Then there was Angel. A more tortured entity than any she had ever heard of, an Archangel and Old One in one, forever bound to his current existence. She only hoped that he would know true peace someday. From what she knew and heard about his past, he deserved a respite.
With a pang of guilt, she then considered Dawn. She who was the Key, a Slayer, and pre-Immortal according to Adam and Buffy. She understood that it was through her being the Key that she sensed such power in the girl, and through the Slayer the primeval essence of that being. It was no wonder Dawn would have such wild and powerful mood swings at times. Her unconscious side knew exactly what she was and was trying to push that knowledge into the conscious realm. Tara had the feeling that that wouldn't happen until all the aspects of what she was were awakened. Gaia help the world when that time came!
The wiccan felt a headache coming on from thinking about all this. At least, she hoped it was from just thinking, and not something worse. It would be just her luck if it wasn't.
She shook her head to dispel such thoughts, knowing that if she dwelt on it much longer she would backslide. Instead, she thought of why she was here.
After the meeting at the Magic Box had ended, Willow had decided that she wanted to take one more look at the wards to see if there was anything else she could do with them, and Tara had decided to go do homework. She did not feel up to looking into magical matters again that day...which led her to now: waiting in line at Starbucks to get some caffeine into her system so that she didn't fall asleep. She usually despised coffee, preferring fruit drinks, but those spells earlier today had drained her far more than she expected.
Yawning, she placed her order with the cashier and paid for her drink, before turning away from the counter to wait for it to be filled. As she did this, her headache spiked further, causing her to wince and raise a hand to her head. Blinking her eyes as she glanced around in puzzlement, she wondered what had caused that as her brow furrowed, before feeling a pull in a particular direction.
Placing a hand on the back of a chair occupied by someone to steady herself, Tara looked through the window of the shop to outside, and saw a woman across the street dressed in blue staring at her. The aura she saw was vile, a neutral soul gorged on the essence of evil.
She swallowed, feeling her face pale as her eyes dilated in shock. Her protections suddenly, uncomfortably, felt stretched, straining against their boundaries.
Even as she stared, she could see the evil stirring within the woman, reaching past the soul, and taking control as the soul retreated into the evil. She shuddered as acid-blue eyes now gazed at her. The evil reached out a tendril to her. She recoiled in horror, but found herself unable to avoid it. Stumbling over a chair that someone had just left, she heard snarled within her mind in hatred and loathing, "Essence Reader!" The power and emotion of that voice was too much for her already weakened defenses.
Her shields strained beyond the point of baring shattered.
She crashed to the floor as she felt the control she exerted over her body slip away once more. Was aware as those around her scrambled to either help her or get out of the way. Felt and saw as hands held her down as she arched her back against their touch, and heard herself screaming from the overload of information they unknowingly gave her. Tears fell down her face as someone shouted for an ambulance, knowing it would do no good.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"I shouldn't've left her alone. I knew her defenses weren't that great yet."
Buffy tightened the arm she had around Willow's shoulders for a moment, and said soothingly to the teary-eyed, red haired witch, "You couldn't've known what would happen, Willow. We all thought she was back to normal."
After wiping her eyes and blowing her nose, Willow mumbled, "She wasn't," before a look of resolve came upon her face, and she straightened up in her seat, pulling away from her best friend as she did so. Drawing in a steadying breath, she explained, "We'd been reinforcing what protections Tara had around her mind after what happened with Glory, but it'd only been half done at this point. It was enough for her to function like normal...as long as she was careful."
"If you knew this," Giles inquired from where he stood in the doorway, "why did you leave her alone?"
Willow grimaced, then answered, "Because I thought she'd stay in the apartment until I got back. I didn't realize how tired she was if she went to Starbucks. She hates coffee."
"We know she kinda lost it," Dawn said with a wince of apology, "but do you know why?"
"Indeed," Giles concurred.
Willow glanced nervously over to the furthest corner of the living room in the Summers' home to where Quentin sat, before looking at Giles. Her eyes practically pled for him not to get angry, as she answered Dawn, saying, "Yeah, I do...or at least most of it. You see, while I was helping Tara, she asked me to place a failsafe in her mind so that if this happened again, she'll still be able to talk to me. Anyway, because of this, I was kinda able to learn what happened. She basically Saw something that overwhelmed her completely."
"That's all very well and good," Quentin interrupted impatiently, "but what did the girl see?"
Willow became flustered as she answered, saying, "Well, I, uh, don't know exactly. That failsafe wasn't as clear as we'd hoped, images, words, and sounds kept getting distorted and switched around. But I was at least able to learn that the one Tara saw was female, and, and, ah...blue haired?"
"That doesn't tell us much," Buffy murmured in concern.
"I know," the wiccan said in agreement as she nodded quickly, before adding, "that's why I decided to see if that gang that got beat up might be able to tell me anything."
"What?" yelped Buffy and Dawn simultaneously, while Giles admonished, "That was a very foolish thing to do, Willow."
"I'm aware of that, Giles," Willow said exasperatedly. "But I was able to learn a little more. This demon's human-shaped and sized, was wearing blue clothing, and the Superman theory we were talking about earlier seems to be true."
"Did you find out why the demon attacked them," Dawn inquired curiously over her shock.
"Yeah, seems she was trying to find something, they wouldn't tell me what though," was the answer.
"Huh," was Dawn's response, as Buffy said, "We'll have to keep an eye out for this demon, then. With this attack on Tara, it's definitely a threat now."
"Oh, very good," Quentin scoffed. "Are you going to stop and accost every female in this town that has blue hair and clothes, then? There's quite a few people here that can fit that description!"
"Oh! Will you just shut it," Willow exclaimed angrily, her eye color darkening with every word as she stood up and faced the Head Watcher. "I've gotten really tired of your constant putdowns and badgering! If you're here to help us, then help us. If not, then leave us alone. Better yet, just leave!"
An uneasy silence descended while all warily watched the angered wiccan. Power seemed to roll off of Willow, causing random items to begin to float into the air... Or perhaps not so random, as a particularly jagged edged sculpture rose up behind the woman and slowly turned 'til those edges were pointed at Quentin. Black eyes glared balefully into the Head Watchers' own eyes.
Slowly, with carefully controlled motions, Quentin Travers rose from his seat, a look of loathing on his face. Once standing straight and tall, he took his eyes off of the witch before him disdainfully, and stared with a look of vindication at Giles. His tone smug, the Head Watcher said, "This was what I was speaking to you about, Rupert. Your witches are hopelessly out of control in a city that reeks of evil...an evil that draws those with power. Be careful, or your Slayer will have to hunt them down like she does any other demon in this place."
Willow seemed to roar with her fury to the threat made as she thrust her hands out before her, just as Giles called out sharply, "Willow!"
In a moment that seemed to stretch out forever, Quentin found himself sailing backwards to slam into the wall behind him. At the same time, the statue with the jagged edges shot towards the Watcher...to impale itself just to the side of his head. Wild-eyed, he gazed at the statue before turning uneasy eyes onto Willow.
The black had completely encompassed the wiccan's eyes.
In a voice an octave lower than where it should be, the red head ground out, "You will not touch her!"
In the tense silence that followed, Buffy rose quietly to her feet and stepped to Willow's side. In a soft yet firm voice, she said, "Put him down, Willow."
A snarl was her only response.
Sighing, the eldest Slayer asked as she put a hand on the other's shoulder, "Do you think Tara would want you to act like this?"
A sharp jerk of the head and a quickly drawn in breath, and then Quentin suddenly fell to crash in a heap into the chair he had originally been sitting in. The statue remained stuck in the wall.
In the stillness that followed, only muffled crying could be heard.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
It was hellishly late at night, or very early in the morning, depending on how you looked at the time, but to Dawn that didn't matter. All that she cared about was finding the one she searched for as she prowled the streets, cemeteries, and parks of Sunnydale. Of course, she was doing this without her parents' permission. They didn't even know she was out here, but someone needed to tell Spike what was going on.
It had been fun to watch from her room as Quentin Travers skulked out of the house earlier, totally freaked out by what Willow had done. Oh, she had seen what happened when she had snuck downstairs when she heard the shouting and felt the sudden increase in power that could only come from the furious wiccan. She also knew that Buffy had called Adam to tell him the latest once the eldest Slayer had calmed the red head down. It was then that Dawn realized they had all forgotten about someone, which really ticked her off.
She hadn't told anyone about her epiphany. How could she? They really didn't care about the soulless vampire like she did. He was her friend, confidant, and just fun to be around. He told it like it was, and didn't really care what others thought of him. She also knew he had a soft spot for her. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her, the concern, worry, and fondness he hid from everyone else.
He was like a big brother to her, and she wanted to make sure he knew what had been going on the past couple of days since Quentin's arrival.
As she passed the gate to one of the parks that was cattycorner to a nearby cemetery, she saw the plaque that commemorated when this park had been dedicated and wondered what Adam had been doing at that time...or rather what Methos had been doing then. She still didn't know much about him, and finding anything under that name was like looking for a needle in a haystack...a really big haystack. She was coming to the sneaking suspicion that any reference the Immortal found of himself was either modified in some way, or obliterated.
It was frustrating the hell out of her, and she was about ready to break into the safe where Giles kept his Watcher journals and look there for information. Dawn just knew Giles knew who Adam really was. It was kinda obvious with the way he reacted to some of the stuff the Immortal said or did.
Dawn sighed and shook her head to clear it of such thoughts as she entered the cemetery she had been coming up on. After passing a few rows of headstones, she stopped and frowned. Something didn't feel right, and her Slayer instincts were cautioning her to be more careful.
Now moving with a lighter step and wariness, Dawn thanked the Powers That Be for the better night vision and hearing that came with the Slayer package. She'd be jumping at the moving shadows and slightest noise otherwise. As she moved around a large sculpture, she froze, her instincts screaming.
Only a few feet in front of her stood a woman dressed in blue clothing with blue streaks in her dark brown hair. Blue also tinted parts of her skin, and impossibly bright blue eyes gazed at her. Swallowing thickly as the demon before her tilted her head to one side, the teenager took a step back.
In a voice devoid of all emotion, the one before Dawn spoke, stating matter-of-factly, "Your soul-shard is particularly strong for one not yet awakened, Immortal child."
The young Slayer took another step back, before asking in a shaky voice, "What?"
The woman blinked, her eyes changing from blue to gray within that motion, and explained in a more human sounding tone as the blue receded from her skin, "You will one day be Immortal, child, and counted among our kind."
Warily eyeing the woman, Dawn muttered sarcastically, "Well, that answers that," before asking in a normal voice level, "What the heck are you talking about? What's a soul-shard and what'd you mean your kind," then concluded in angered accusation, "You're the demon, not me!"
The demon's eyes instantly went from gray to blue, and Dawn suddenly found the other's hand around her throat. A moment later she was hanging in the air by said appendage. The demon then spoke in a voice an octave lower than before. A simmering fury could be heard as the woman snapped out, "I am no mere demon! I am an Old One reborn."
Before Dawn could truly register or comprehend that declaration, she found herself sailing through the air. She impacted with a tall headstone with enough force to break the marble in half...only for the top portion to fall heavily on her. Grunting as she shoved the ruined gravestone off of herself, Dawn fought the feeling of déjà vu she was getting, and prayed to whatever deity could hear that this wouldn't end up being another Glory fiasco.
As the teenager staggered to her feet, the demon observed, "You are more than a pre-Immortal. What are you? You're power is unlike any I've known."
Now firmly on her feet, Dawn answered with narrowed eyes, acting braver than she felt, "I'm a Slayer."
The eyes changed again as the woman said in a more human tone, "I've heard of your kind."
The young Slayer bared her teeth as she then stated, "Then you should know not to mess with me."
Gray eyes flared to blue once more as the demon said with a touch of anticipation, "We shall see. I have yet to see or find someone challenging enough for me."
Dawn gulped at those words, but knew that having gone this far, she couldn't back out without losing face, even to herself. With that thought in mind, the young Slayer threw the first punch, only to have it easily deflected. The return punch tossed her into another headstone, pulverizing it.
What followed was a game of cat and mouse throughout the entire cemetery...and Dawn was not the cat.
A half hour later, Dawn lay sprawled on the ground in the middle of the demolished graveyard, more than ready to cry uncle. Blood, sweat, and other unmentionable things covered the Slayer as she lay there staring at the reborn Old One...who stood only a foot away without a scratch on her. What blood and other things that were on the demon had come not by injury, but from being in close contact with Dawn.
In the lull that followed, and as the teenager struggled to get her breathing back to normal, she watched as the demon sniffed the air while frowning and looking about her. After a few moments, the woman turned now gray eyes on Dawn, and then knelt in front of the girl. The ever changing eyes gazed at her with a calm sort of intensity that unnerved the Slayer.
In a quite voice, the woman said almost hypnotically as she slowly reached a hand out to her, not quite touching, "You smell like him."
Not even daring to move, Dawn asked cautiously in a whisper, "Who?"
The answer was breathed out in an almost prayer-like quality, "Methos."
As Dawn's eyes widened in sudden realization, the woman's eyes changed color again. In the next moment the demon grabbed hold of the front of the Slayer's shirt and yanked the girl into an upright position. Their faces now only inches apart, the reborn Old One hissed out, "Where is he?"
Heart pounding a mile a minute, Dawn stuttered out in sudden terror, "I don't know anyone by that name!"
One of the teenager's arms was quickly pulled behind her back at an agonizing angle as the demon snarled out, "You lie. Where is he?"
Eyes swimming from the pain, Dawn gasped out, "Not here!"
The words had not finished leaving the Slayer's mouth when her shoulder was dislocated. The girl cried out as the demon brought the injured arm in front of the teenager, and demanded coldly, "Tell. Me. Where. He. Is."
Her breathes practically sobs, Dawn said, "Somewhere in the warehouse di—AH!"
The demon released the teenager's now broken wrist, and roared, "WHERE IS HE! We have been there and he is not there!"
Openly weeping as she attempted to curl into a protective ball, Dawn at last answered, saying brokenly, "He's in one of the hotels in town. I don't know which one."
The demon rose to her feet, at last satisfied with the answer given. Gazing down at Dawn, she tilted her had to one side, before saying, "Slayer."
The young Slayer turned pain filled eyes to warily gaze at the one above her. In the next moment she blacked out from the kick to the head she received from the demon.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
It was about 4:30 in the morning, and Spike was ticked. He had been watching a late night movie when he had had the uncomfortable feeling that he needed to be somewhere else...right now. So he had gotten up and stalked outside, making sure to grab a fresh pack of cigarettes on the way.
That had been half an hour ago and he now found himself on his last cigarette. He was passing one of the cemeteries in this god forsaken town, when something made him pause. He slowly turned until he was facing the graveyard, then hissed out a smoke-filled breath, shocked by what he saw. In the next moment he was vaulting over the fence and stumbling over the rubble to reach the prone and bloody figure on the ground.
"DAWN" bellowed Spike frantically as he realized whom he had found.
Crashing to his knees, the vampire began checking for obvious wounds after seeing if the girl was alive or not. Once satisfied that the worst was her head and arm, Spike carefully-yet-firmly gripped the damaged arm above the elbow and gave a sharp jerk. The shoulder realigned itself instantly.
Dawn woke up with a cry, disoriented and dizzy. The vampire helped her sit up, murmuring nothing important to keep her from panicking or becoming frightened...as nothing was worse than having to deal with an injured Slayer in survival mode.
It seemed to work, as the teenager only looked around without comprehension to her surroundings.
Dawn shifted, and frowned down at her arm when she realized that Spike was holding said arm, and that her wrist looked kinda funny. Reaching over with her good hand, the girl pressed the misaligned pieces back into alignment with ease.
She did not even flinch from doing that.
Seeing this, Spike said decisively, "Right, you're going to the hospital," and picked Dawn up, carrying her bridal fashion.
As Spike stomped and kicked he way through the wrecked graveyard, Dawn mumbled, "Home," as she cradled her arm.
Still walking, the vampire replied, "Not happenin', love. You've got injuries and a concussion that they can't take care of, and if I came in the door with you like this, they'd stake me before thinking to ask how you got injured."
Dawn leaning her head on his shoulder was the only response Spike got for what he said.
Next Part: The aftermath of Dawn's encounter with CassRia, an unexpected visitor, and poor, poor Methos!
Part Finished: 3/31/09
A/N 2: Anyone else getting sick of my one-year-long hiatuses in the middle of a story? Yeah. Me too. You've no idea the amount of guilt I feel when it happens!
