The Wolf, the Ram and the Hart: Aberjian
by redmoon
Aberjian

The water dripped incessantly from the ceiling of the dank cave as the three made their way through it. It seemed to wind its way through the whole of the continent, or at least, the whole of the Abandoned place, in this case, northern Spain.

Soon enough, the flare burned down and Buffy struck another. It was about ten minutes after this new flare’s birth that Spike began to sense that they were being followed. His vampire ears could hear the carefully placed steps, timed with the drops of water, and he could smell something down with them other than the cave slime.

Finally, as Buffy and Willow talked about something he was trying to shut out, he carefully slowed his pace, then turned and made a rush back around the corner of the tunnel, making a grab at the surprised figure’s wrists.

The figure, however, was faster and more prepared than Spike had anticipated, and threw the blonde haired vampire to the wall with little trouble. He then stepped around the corner into the light of the flare.

Buffy turned at the commotion, and initially, her eyes widened with surprise. Almost immediately, however, she scowled, suspecting an illusion.

“He certainly hits like he’s real,” Spike observed, walking around Angel, rubbing his shoulder.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the dark haired vampire apologized. “I just wasn’t sure until now what I was dealing with.” He raised an eyebrow at the recovering Spike. “With tactics like that, it could only have been Spike,” he observed.

“Watch it,” Spike brushed his duster off, nonchalantly.

“Let’s go,” Buffy said bitterly, turning to continue down the tunnel. Spike and Willow fell into step beside her.

“Where are you going?” Angel insisted, darting between them to block their path. “I didn’t follow you for no reason!”

“We don’t care,” Buffy said irritably. “You’re not real. Now get out of our way.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Angel’s face was contorted in confusion. “What makes you think I’m not real?” he asked.

“No one here is real,” Buffy said loudly. “And we know it,” she added to the walls and ceiling. “You’re an illusion just like the others.”

“An illusion?” Angel said amazed. “What-” he stopped and cocked his head very slightly. “You didn’t do anything... unprofessional to those ‘illusions’ did you?” He asked.

“Why?” Willow asked, speaking for the first time.

“They... um,” he searched the room for the correct way to phrase this. “They weren’t exactly illusions.”

“That’s what they said. And why should we believe you?” Buffy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Angel raised a finger, ready to explain how he was not, himself, an illusion, then sagged, realizing there was little chance of convincing them with words. “All right,” he said. “Would and illusion do this?” He swung hard and landed a left hook hard to Spike’s cheek, knocking the other vampire to the ground.

“Would you stop hittin’ me!” the blonde vampire shouted, jumping back to his feet, rubbing his jaw.

Buffy frowned. If this was a hell dimension, and considering how seeing that made her feel... “No,” she said at last. “You’re real.”

“Well I’m glad we got that settled,” Spike muttered, tracing his fingers over the mark on his cheek.

“How did you get here?” she asked, still suspicious of his intentions, and honestly his identity.

“I came in the same way you did,” he answered, “and I grabbed something you forgot,” he held up what was in his right fist.

Spike’s eyes widened. The golden chalice was unmistakable, even in the green of the flare. The blonde vamp made a grab for it, but Angel held it always out of his reach.

“And I managed to get Giles and Andrew to the exit,” he continued. “Giles was a bit annoyed, it seemed to me, and not just because of the seven gunshot wounds.”

“You’re saying they were all real?” Willow’s eyes widened. “What-? How?” She stammered, her hand finding Buffy’s.

“I had a spell cast on your home,” Angel answered, easily. “I knew that some Wolfram and Hart agents were likely to try and track you down, but I couldn’t get any help to Rome on such short notice.” He sounded very casual and calm about the whole affair. “The spell keeps any souls released in the vicinity contained anywhere I specify. Since you were going here, it seemed like a good idea.” He looked about the cave, still holding the neck of the cup in his right fist. “We’ll be able to bring everyone back to life as long as their souls are contained, assuming we don’t wait too long,” he added, grimacing a little.

All of this sank in for the three adventurers. “So that was really Giles,” Buffy said softly. “And that was really Dawn,” she whispered. This was almost worse than being tormented by illusions. And because of this, the suspicion remained.

“But there was no harm done,” Angel added, quickly, sensing her reaction. “They’ll all be fine once we revive them, and” he assured her, “they won’t remember anything that happened while they were dead.”

Buffy exhaled. She didn’t feel a whole lot better about how she had treated... everyone, but at least they wouldn’t remember it.

“You said you cast the spell on Buffy’s home,” Willow said, as distraught as Buffy, if not more. “B- but we saw Tara.” She looked to her friends for confirmation. “We saw her here.” She waited a moment as Angel was considering this. “She didn’t die-” the witch nearly choked on the words, “in Buffy’s apartment. She died back in Sunnydale.”

Angel stopped considering and with a sympathetic, yet inquiring tone, he asked. “In Buffy’s home in Sunnydale?” Spike, meanwhile, made another failed attempt to retrieve the Cup.

Willow nodded, in both acknowledgment and understanding. This realization soon set in with Buffy too, who was now considering everyone who had died in her old house. Her eyes widened.

“How...” she began, finding her throat closing off at the memory of Joyce. “How long can we wait before it’s too late...” she asked.

Angel caught the implication. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly and very sincerely. “A week at most.”

Buffy nodded quickly, dropping her gaze to the floor. Her mother, Joyce, had died years ago of a brain aneurysm. With all the resolve she could muster, she looked back up into Angel’s eyes, her distant sadness becoming gratitude. “Thank you,” she said with a shadow of a smile.

“So what are you really doin’ here?” Spike asked, having given up on retrieving his prize.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you’d find everyone,” Angel began.

“We never found Andrew,” Willow interjected.

“And I realized that the prophecy indicated the presence of the Champion,” he held up the Cup of Perpetual Torment. “So here I am,” he glanced coldly at Spike who was returning the stare.

For the first time, Buffy noticed the pair of wolf eyes burned into Angel’s face and neck. He had been identified as the Champion, just as Spike had been. The words of the prophecy were dredged up from her memory. Her gaze became distant as she recalled the words, but snapped back into reality as she saw Spike make a formidable lunge for the Cup in Angel’s hand.

“Spike no!” Buffy shouted, ploughing into the vampire’s side, knocking him down. “There’s something I didn’t tell you,” she whispered into his ear as she lay on top of him on the dark floor of the cavern.

Spike, however, had his eyes fixed on Angel. “No, you- bloody git!” He shouted hoarsely.

Buffy whipped her head around, fixing Angel in her sight in time to see him, half grinning, drain the contents of the Cup of Perpetual Torment. Buffy’s eyes grew wide, horrified at what he had just done. “Angel-!” She exclaimed, a beat too late, a tone to low. What had he done?


This story archived at: The Slayer\'s Fanfic Archive
The Slayer\\\\\\\\'s FanFic Archive - http://www.slayerfanfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=9538