Disclaimer: Just borrowing... own nothing! Seriously!
Author's Note: This come from my utter love of Giles and my inability to sleep. I have to thank alwaysjbj for beta-ing my work. Also for the title help! You are a beta-goddess!
He had lain silent—waiting for the chance to emerge from fallow ground. The veneer covering him had grown thicker and thicker over the years till until it had felt safe. He’d been waiting, hoping, for some kind of a surety that the sickness inside of him was long gone; purged in that one reckless event.
The night of Eyghon was one of the blackest events in his life. Like a surgeon, he had cut all ties with that night and anything that would remind him of how stupid and arrogant he had been to try and tamper with forces beyond his control. Philip, Deirdre, Ethan, Thomas? He had been unable to look at them; they’d been just as guilty as he was. He had helped to cover up what had happened, telling them that this would be the last time that they would see him. and that he was going back to school and for them not to try and look him up.
The carefully modulated tones and polishing of the harsh edges had supported this belief that everything would be alright. Sitting in the library and going over tomes of old arcane knowledge while everyone else his age was out enjoying themselves had taken away some of the pain. He had denied himself the things that had brought him to that night. Whenever the urge had hit him to go with his new college chums all he’d had to do was to look at the mark.
It hadn’t been long before he was ranked top of his class and his father had sent him meaningful looks over the dinner table; proud that he had finally settled down and had started to show an interest in following in his patriarchal footsteps. Those looks had made his stomach churn with self-disgust. as he’d wondered what his father would really have thought of him had he known the truth?
It had been a thrill for them to call up and be possessed by an entity that had filled them with power—more power even than they had dared imagine. They’d thought that they’d figured everything out and would be able to control it. All it had taken was a smudged rune on the binding spell.
He had watched helplessly as one of his friends was possessed by a demon that he had been part of calling forth. Pure horror had filled him as that thing had taken Randall over, realizing in that moment that the casual and arrogantly foolish use of the demon to bring on a high was going to destroy them. It had taken the five of them to hold Randall down and mutilate the tattoo in the hope that the act would release him from Eyghon's grip. Instead it had thrown it into a frenzy. Weak and disoriented the demon had torn at Randall's eyes gouging deeply. With nails clawing into his own face Randall had screamed for them to help him. Great chunks of ragged flesh had hung from Randall’s face and yet everyone else in the room had stood motionless afraid to go anywhere near the terrified youth in case the demon was somehow able to make the jump to them. Randall's cries had become all the more anguished as he’d tried to escape the pain. He had crawled to where Ethan was standing and reached out blindly for help. They’d all watched in silence as Ethan handed him the dagger that they’d used to cut and slash at the mark.
With the mark corrupted the demon had been desperate to remain in this dimension and with unerring skill he’d driven the blade home, deep into Randall's throat. Ethan had then torn the dagger out and calmly removed the last shred of the mark, severing the demon’s last fragile connection. The faint yellow glow had left the eye sockets of their fallen comrade.
Even amid the pure terror that had gripped him, a part of him had been infinitely glad that it had been Randall, while at the same time terrified that he might be next.
He wasn't stupid; he knew. the portal hadn't been closed and that the demon was still on the loose. That it was out there somewhere just waiting.
Every time he fell asleep the image of Randall would be there calling out for help over and over again. Bitter shame and regret haunted him everyday.
Would his Father be proud to know that one of the main reasons he had applied himself these past years was that he had been desperately trying to find the spells and warding glyphs to protect himself? The top marks had earned him access to some of the more restricted material; unfortunately nothing that had pertained to Eyghon. His frustration had grown, however, he’d known better than to draw unwanted interest by asking for specific works... the Watcher's Council was notorious for finding intrigue within the slightest action. They would have picked up on him in an instant had he voiced the questions he so desperately craved the answers for.
No—it had been far better for him to bide his time, placing a non-specific demon warding on his home. in the hope that it would be sufficient to ward off the demon. The Motherhouse itself was warded from top to bottom thus making it one of the safest places for him to be.
The darker side of magicks he had put away... swearing that he would only learn those arts in theory while concentrating his studies on the less destructive side of magick, that which he could use in his duties as a watcher to combat evil. He had performed a general masking spell that it had been his hope would throw off Eyghon if it ever came looking for him.
The year’s had passed quickly and he’d almost been able convince himself that it had never happened. That it had all been a horrible nightmare. Any thoughts that lead to a remembrance of that night were ruthlessly squashed. There was peace in denial.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The reassuring sound of the ticking clock and the usually-comforting rustle of pages being turned did little to slow the pounding of his heart. He’d dozed off at his desk after swearing that he was going to shut his eyes for but a moment.
This past month he had woken up nightly; drenched in a cold sweat and the mark on his arm throbbing painfully. It was coming. Cold dread flooded him and set him to pouring over tome after tome as he scoured all the available texts that he had.
Every reference he had found mentioned how the demon was able to enter the dead or the unconscious. Not one mention had he found of anyone foolish enough to actually let this demon possess them. He had also, much to his aggravation, been unable to find any mention of how to banish it from this plane.
Groaning in frustration he slammed the book closed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So many things had happened since that night. In many ways he had put the past behind him; something that horrible, however, never lays completely dormant. Ethan himself had shown up making mention of that blasted nickname. It was a name he had taken some pride in it as a youth—that he was someone to be feared. The Ripper. Now he despised it—that name summed-up all in its mystery, everything about himself he couldn’t stand ... a killer... one who was never caught, never brought to justice.
Damn Ethan for just showing up here and casually talking about things that he had tried so many years ago to bury. He knew Cordelia; knew that the question he had been trying to avoid—“Why did he call you Ripper?” was going to be revisited, like it or not. He sighed in resignation, realizing that his unavoidable answer would forever change the way these youngsters he had come to care for would view him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He had taken Buffy to get their tattoos removed over the weekend. He looked down at where the mark had been, all that remained was a raw red patch of skin were he had been marked. Buffy had seen a side to him that he had never wanted her to see; he could only pray that this was something they could move beyond.
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