… and ends

With his back to the Hellmouth and portal, Giles felt very much exposed and vulnerable, yet his position was necessary. Just opposite him, on the other side of Dawn, Willow’s eyes were fixed somewhere over his shoulder, on the two openings to hell they were working on closing. She was doing the actual patching up, the other three members of the circle having the task of reaching to Dawn’s energy and preparing it for Willow’s use. They hadn’t been able to figure out how long it would take them to repair the tear between this dimension and Quortoth. All they knew was that they needed to be done before it had been open for twelve hours. They had worked with a deadline before. No problem.

But if there was no problem, why did he have this bad feeling eating at him? Willow seemed focused, Tara serene, Andrea thoughtful. The only one who actually paid attention to the fight that was going on behind his back was Dawn, and by the changing expressions on her face he couldn’t tell whether they were winning or losing the battle. She was, in turns, wincing, smiling, frowning, sighing, and he would have given a lot to be able to see, make sure that his Slayer – hell, all of them –was OK.

Caught up in the chanting and incantations, Tara was paying very little attention to what was going on around her. She was aware of few things apart from the circle she was a part of. It felt like they had been working on the spell for hours, but for all she knew it had been only minutes. No way to tell. Not that it was important anyway. Her faith in Willow and her talents was immense. Long gone were her fears that her girlfriend might abuse her magical powers.

The other thing she was aware of was the energy that surrounded all of them. It came from Dawn, of course, but not just from her. It also came from the four people around the girl, and from the fighters that she dimly knew were protecting them. In her mind’s eye, she could see all of it intertwining, each of them feeding the others as well as receiving their energy, but all of it centered on Dawn. And there was that line, drawn by Willow, that ran to the portal, that was surrounding it, weaving in and out to make a net that, once completed, would seal the opening, and restore peace on this unholy ground. Unknown to her, a smile bloomed on her lips, testimony of her belief that, this time again, the world would be safe, thanks to her family.

It was the first time Faith was fighting to prevent an apocalypse, and she couldn’t deny that she was excited by it. She had never had such an adrenaline rush, had never felt so alive and needed. And yet, at the same time, she knew it was her last battle, and she was glad of it.

She was armed with a long dagger and an axe, and couldn’t help but be a little surprised at the ease she felt when using them. It was as if she had never stopped training, as if her time in jail had only been a nightmare. A long nightmare. She had returned to the place that was hers. That had been meant to be hers. But she didn’t want it anymore, she couldn’t do this anymore.

A huge demon that looked vaguely insect-like, if insects had been the size of a SUV, jumped out of the vertical portal and advanced through the school’s ruins midway between where she stood and where Angel was busy with a snake-like thing. Without needing to think twice, she intercepted the bug, swinging her axe to cut off its front legs. The thing roared and stopped, still having six legs left. It stood on the four back ones, and took a hit toward her with one of its middle appendages. She jumped high enough to avoid it, but when she was back on her feet another swing caught her in the middle of her thigh. First blood for the day. A savage grin rose to her lips as she ran to her opponent, and it had soon paid both for hurting her and destroying her favorite pair of pants.

At first, Andrea had been trying to keep an eye on the battle that was going on two dozen yards from where she was sitting with the Witches and the ex-Watcher. But it was too much to look at Manon and not be able to do anything to help or protect her, so her eyes were now closed. At regular intervals, she was joining her voice to the others, but she could do that with only part of her mind on the task, leaving her much to think about.

First, there was Faith. Her arrival had been a shock, and she was still mildly annoyed that Rupert hadn’t told her before that the girl was alive. Everything she had known about the woman was that she was a rogue, unworthy of the Council’s protection, and killed by William the Bloody just as she had been released from jail. Except that now, Andrea knew it wasn’t quite so. Faith hadn’t been killed, at least not permanently, and she had come to Sunnydale, knowing something bad was about to happen, because she thought she was needed. Why would a rogue Slayer care enough to do such a thing? Something didn’t quite fit.

Then there was her father, and she had a strong suspicion he was the reason why Faith’s story didn’t make much sense. Quentin Travers, she had realized a few weeks before, had taken a personal dislike to the brunette Slayer, though she doubted anyone but her knew him enough to have noticed that. Of course, he hated Buffy even more, but killing her wouldn’t bring forth a new Slayer. Would he have tried to have the girl killed, as Andrea had been told the night before? She had no doubt that he was capable of it. Would the Council have approved such a thing, or was it just her father’s decision? Watchers were supposed to assist Slayers, not kill them when they didn’t like their ways. She was already planning to go back to England soon, now that she knew she could trust Manon’s life and training to the so-called ‘Scoobies’. The usually so quiet headquarters of the Council might get a bit noisy when she got there.

And finally, there was Rupert. She hoped he would go back to England with her. He seemed to know a lot of disturbing things Watchers had done on her father’s orders, and could be a formidable ally when she asked the Council for answers. And if she was honest with herself, she could admit it wasn’t the only reason why she wanted him to accompany her.

Shaking her head slightly to get rid of the thoughts that were threatening to make her blush, Andrea returned her full attention to what was going on in the magic circle. Waves of energy were still emanating from Dawn and rushing toward the portal, though when she turned to look at it, she could see no sign of it shrinking or closing. She could only hope Willow knew what she was doing.

Wave after wave of demons and monsters were coming out of the two gaping holes, sometimes one at a time, sometimes in groups, and had been doing so for a good two or three hours. At least, that was Steven’s estimation, judging by the sun’s position high above the dome. It didn’t matter anyway. Two hours or three or twenty, he had a duty to accomplish, which would only cease once the portal and Hellmouth were closed and all the creatures that had stepped into this dimension were dead.

As he fought demons he had known and battled literally all his life, he realized how far he was from the kid who had stepped out of a hell dimension to meet his demon of a father. Then, he was fighting to please his other father, with no feelings but hatred for anything non-human. Now, he was fighting for love, for his Dawn, to make sure nothing would happen to her. He still enjoyed a good fight, of course, but he couldn’t help worrying about her. Every now and then, when he had a few seconds to catch his breath, he would look toward her, make sure she was alright. Always, she would smile at him then, and that was enough to replenish his energy.

A hideous creature, maybe half his size but three times that in width, crawled out of the hellmouth on six legs and came toward him, three ranks of fangs visible when it roared. Without warning, it pounced on him with surprising agility and speed, but Steven was ready, both his swords swinging in the air. The thing was soon lying in three separate heaps on the ground, and again, Steven turned to Dawn, again to receive a smile.

When it was all over and she finally could lay her hands on Steven, Dawn was going to slap him senseless. Was he taking risks like that on purpose? Didn’t he realize how frightening it was for her to look at him waiting for the things to attack before he tried to kill them? The others didn’t seem to wait so long before they went for the kill. She watched them too sometimes, Buffy and Spike mostly. But not as much as she watched him. And Steven’s technique seemed awfully dangerous from where she was. So she would slap him senseless. Or maybe even kick him. Or she could kiss him until he was breathless and unsuspecting, then slap and kick him. Yes, that was the idea. That would teach him about taking stupid risks.

Her arms felt tired from being extended as they were toward the others on each side of her. But she didn’t dare move, for Willow had said that contact was essential. She was aware, dimly, of the four people around her chanting and talking in turns, words she didn’t care to try and understand. She was aware also of the flashes of light that came from the circle and flew to the portal, with no result that she could see. No, not light, energy. Her energy. The very core of what she was. Bit after bit, it was taken from her and used to close the portal. Yet she didn’t feel any weaker. Tired of sitting without moving for so long, yes, tired of being afraid every time something approached Steven, but not weak. As if the energy she had been created from was infinite.

A flash of black ran in front of her and out of the dome, and Dawn had to fight herself not to follow Buffy. She had seen, in all that black, on her arm, a long tear in her shirt, and bloodied flesh under it. She could guess her sister was just going out for a quick bandage, and she wouldn’t be the first. Faith had left the dome, earlier, for only a couple of minutes, and so had Angel. She wished Steven would take a break too; he had been fighting for so long he must have been exhausted. But at the same time she dreaded it, for she knew him enough to realize he wouldn’t leave the battlefield unless he was seriously injured. He turned to her then, as if feeling she was thinking of him, and smiled at her, a smile so soft, so strange on a face that otherwise screamed ‘kill’. Despite her anger at his recklessness, she couldn’t help herself, and smiled back.

The gash on her arm wasn’t very deep, but Spike had noticed it, and in the middle of killing a – whatever that had been - he had threatened to carry her outside himself if she didn’t go willingly. She had complied, making sure he heard her grumbles, but aware despite them that he was right. They had been fighting for hours already, and since the portal was giving no sign of closing, they might have a lot more time to go. Bleeding to death because she hadn’t paid attention to a minor injury would have been stupid. But now, carefully bandaged by Xander, her dry throat soothed by an energetic drink of some kind, Buffy was ready to get back in the game. Before rushing in, she rummaged through the pile of spare weapons and grabbed a sword, her own weapon of choice, and an axe for Spike. A while before, they had been working together on a few creatures with very tough hides, and by the end their weapons’ edges had needed a serious sharpening. It wasn’t very easy to cut off the heads of nameless creatures with a blunt sword. Hence, the slash in her arm.

Thanking Xander, she stepped inside the dome again, only to find the scene mostly as she had left it. There were more bloody bodies in the rubble of the school, and the white hats were taking on different monsters than when she had left, but these were the only differences. She flashed a smile and a wink at Dawn as she strode by the magically inclined people, wishing she could interrupt and ask how the spell was going. Then she returned to her spot between Steven and Spike. Catching her fiancé’s attention as he finished a kill, she threw the axe at him and he caught it easily, discarding the blunt edged one. They didn’t have time to talk as a new bunch of demons jumped in from the hell dimension on the other side of the portal and rushed in their direction. Easily, they fell in back to back and battled the four creatures. Fighting together required no thinking, no planning. They knew each other’s technique so well that they could coordinate their moves easily. A dance, truly, which was not much different from fighting against each other instead of together. Quickly, almost too quickly, they were standing in the middle of corpses. They had time for a kiss, just lips brushing together, and off they were again, this time fighting separately.

True to his promise, Spike was keeping an eye on Manon, and had come to fight by her side a few times already. Not that she had been in real danger at any time, she was sure she could have survived without him. Yet it had been nice to receive his help. She had noticed he was doing the same thing for Buffy, rushing to cover her back whenever she fought more than two demons at once. They fought well together, it was almost like a ballet, and if she had had more time Manon would have enjoyed watching them. As it was, she only had handfuls of seconds to catch her breath between killing a demon and having to take care of a new one. Despite herself, she couldn’t help envying Buffy a little, because she had no doubt whom Spike would help if both Slayers needed a hand at the same time.

As she was sliding her sword through the middle of a very toothy creature, she caught sight of the blonde man on her left, and for a change he was the one battling alone against three demons at once. A quick look farther down showed that Buffy was herself busy with two slimy things. Instinctively, Manon rushed in to give a hand to Spike, though she was aware he would probably be fine without her. It just seemed normal to repay him for his help.

She fell in by his side, taking one of the demons’ attention off him, and noticed the quick look of surprise he gave her. Yet he said nothing, and kept on swinging his axe. Because she just had to kill one monster against his two, she was done before him. In the instant she pulled her sword out of her demon’s body, she saw what he obviously didn’t. While he was hacking at one of his creatures, the other one, which had been on the ground, stunned, pounced up and lunged at his side. Without thinking twice, Manon slid between them, her blade neatly slicing the head of the demon off, but not before its clawed arm found a way to her middle. She clutched the wound with her free hand, feeling warm blood on her fingers. A touch on her shoulder made her jump, and she turned around quickly, ready for another kill, but it was only Spike. A very angry Spike.

“What the hell was that fool move?” he barked. “Trying to get yourself killed?”

”It could have killed you,” she protested heatedly. “You watch my back, I watch yours, fair is fair.”

“I was taking care of myself long before your great grandmother was born, girl,” he snapped. “I don’t need a Slayer to die for me.”

Manon remained speechless, both because he seemed so upset that she had been wounded for him, and because she realized she had been aware, in that split second when she chose to block the demon, that she could die from her bold move, but still hadn’t hesitated.

With soft moves that contradicted his flaring anger, Spike pulled Manon’s hand away from her belly, and couldn’t help wincing. Too much blood, though the cut he could see through her ripped t-shirt didn’t look too deep. What had the kid been thinking, flinging herself in front of that demon so carelessly? He was the one who was supposed to protect her, not the other way around. And he would be damned if he let her pull another stunt like this on him again.

Deaf to her protests, he grabbed her sword, threw it to the ground before picking her up and quickly strode toward the edge of the shield, surveying the battlefield. Surely, his Slayer and the Nibblet would be fine for a few minutes. They weren’t alone to face all these demons after all. Nothing so far had come close enough to Dawn for him to worry, as Steven stood, unwavering, between her and the portal. As for Buffy, she was quite simply a fighting goddess. He stepped in to help her when he could, but he had no doubt she didn’t really need his help.

After a couple of seconds, Manon stopped struggling against his grip, instead wrapping an arm around him and resting her other hand on her wound. Moving was probably hurting her, and that only confirmed his intentions. For better or for worse, they would finish this battle without her. He wouldn’t be able to do much if he was constantly worried that she might be careless again, and, without belittling her fighting skills, he was just better at killing things than she was.

“I just wanted to help you,” she mumbled as he stepped through the limit of the dome.

“I know, kid,” he replied, more calmly than before. “But I told you, I have no wish to see you dead. And especially not because of me.”

They had reached the spot where Xander and Anya were waiting. Spike deposited his precious burden in the grass, sharing a few words with Xander about how the battle was going inside and grabbing a bottle of water. As Manon continued saying to anyone who would listen that she just needed a little bandage and would be fine, he bent down, pulled the pendant off her neck, and smashed it under the heel of his boot.

“No more fighting for the kid,” he told the Harris couple, ignoring Manon’s protests yet again. “She’s been bleeding too much. We’ll manage without her.”

He looked down at Manon, his smirk disappearing as he saw the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, pet,” he said softly. “I know you want to fight, but I won’t let you get killed.”

Turning his back to them, he rushed back to the battle, feeling a bit refreshed at having had a couple of minutes to rest, and satisfied with himself for making sure the young Slayer would be alright.

The instant Spike disappeared past the dome’s invisible edge, Manon pushed herself to her feet, and would have fallen flat on her face if Xander had not steadied her with a hand on each of her arms. Standing in front of her, he had his first good look at her exposed injury. It needed tending or she would keep losing blood, but it wasn’t very deep, and Xander couldn’t help frowning as he looked down to the shattered pendant. She could have fought some more after resting a little, and she obviously wanted to. Why had Spike broken her key to the shield? The question could wait for later, however.

“Sit down, kid,” he told her gently. “Let’s patch you up.”

She shook her head, as if to protest, and he noticed then how pale her skin was, that her eyes seemed feverish. Her small movement seemed to have made her dizzy, because she wavered, and he had no trouble carefully pushing her back down in the grass. Anya knelt by her side, first aid supplies ready, and pulled her t-shirt up to uncover her wound. As she did so however, she revealed another gash, parallel to the one they already knew about, a couple of inches below it. The blood soaked t-shirt had hidden it, the torn material clinging to her ripped flesh and concealing it. It was much deeper than the other one, and bleeding very heavily. Anya winced and looked up at Xander.

“She needs real doctors,” she said urgently.

Xander nodded. Quickly, they applied gauze on both wounds to try and slow the bleeding and then he gathered her in his arms and took her to his car, leaving Anya to help the others if needed. By then, the girl was mumbling softly in French, her fevered eyes obviously seeing nothing. He didn’t count how many near accidents he escaped as he speeded to the hospital, keeping an eye on the kid in the backseat, wincing every time his eyes fell on the blood soaked compresses on her middle. She lost conscience before they reached the hospital, and he didn’t dare reach back and check whether she was still alive.

Night had fallen on Sunnydale, and still they were battling. Each of the fighters had gone out two or three times by now, except for Manon and Spike. Angel had seen from the corner of his eye his Childe carry the Slayer outside and come back alone. He had learned later from Anya, as he was taking a much needed though quick food break, that the kid was at the hospital, seriously wounded. That explained why she hadn’t come back. What he didn’t understand, however, was the rage with which Spike was fighting. He hadn’t taken another break, but showed no sign of tiredness as he danced and sliced his way through demons and monstrous creatures. Every time he caught sight of him, Angel was reminded of the young fledgling who had been so eager to cause chaos and mayhem. A hundred years later, and back to being human, it was still the same fire that burnt in him. And Angel couldn’t help feeling slightly worried for Spike’s safety, as he had long before.

But then, he was worried for all his fellow fighters. Steven’s technique was flawless, and he rarely had any trouble with his prey, and yet Angel caught himself frowning at his son a few times, when the kid appeared to play with the demons before killing them. Between two kills, he exchanged a few heated words with him, and was satisfied later to see that Steven was killing faster, without taking so many risks. Faith, on his other side, and Buffy, by Steven’s right, both seemed to economize their moves as they fought, and Angel could only guess that they were getting tired. They certainly weren’t used to such exhausting battles. None of them was. And then there was Spike, and if he hadn’t been so far from him Angel might have talked to him too, and told him to use his energy sparingly. Who knew how long the portal would remain open? There had been absolutely no sign of it closing, or wavering, or even shrinking a little, and demons kept pouring out of it. When the sun had set, balls of light had risen from the magic circle, so that there was enough light to keep fighting. If they could spare a second to think of making light, certainly things were working well for the Witches and Watchers, right? So they would close these damn doors to hell soon, right? They had to, because Angel could feel his moves get sloppy, and he didn’t know how much longer he would be able to fight. A fresh wave of demons came out of the hellmouth, and Angel braced himself for the new confrontation.

For Willow, nothing existed but the open portal and the energy. She was surrounded by energy, she was energy herself, and the gaping hole between the dimensions just needed energy to be closed again. It was like mending fabric, really. First she had consolidated the edges of the portal, so that the tear wouldn’t get bigger. Then she had laid long lines across the hole, horizontal and vertical in her mind, though she realized it was more an image than an actual weaving. Then she had started overlapping the lines, creating an intricate web that slowly covered the opening. It was visible to her, because she was energy herself, but she knew to the others nothing was apparent. She regretted not having thought of telling them, they probably worried and wondered whether she was doing anything at all. But yes, she was. And she was almost done…

She carefully placed the last string of energy, so that the portal was completely wrapped in it. Then came the last part. She gathered energy, as much as she could, until she thought she would burst with it. She was aware now of the four people that were close to her, and realized they understood the end was near. There was expectation in the air. The battle had been long, and… Now it would end. She projected what in her mind was a ball to the web she had woven, and as they connected a bright light flooded the dome, as well as a deafening noise that sounded like a clap of thunder. When the light receded, the portal had disappeared, and Willow just knew that the hellmouth was closed too. There were still a few fights going on, but no one seemed in immediate danger. So Willow gave in to her exhaustion, and allowed herself to faint.

It was past 10 pm, and Anya was cold, tired and worried. No one had come out to get refreshments or first aid in a while, and she was just scared, not knowing what was going on behind the dome’s illusion. She might have felt better with Xander by her side, but he hadn’t returned from the hospital.

Finally, she heard noise coming from the shield, and saw it waver and disappear, as the people that were inside slowly made their way toward her. Tara was helping Willow walk. Giles held Andrea’s arm, though he appeared to need some kind of support himself. Dawn’s and Steven’s arms were wrapped around each other, as were Buffy’s and Spike’s. Side by side, though not holding on to each other, Faith and Angel both seemed a bit unsteady.

“Where’s Manon?” Andrea was the first to ask, breaking the silence.

“She was hurt badly,” Anya explained slowly, as she had told all of those who had come out earlier. “Xander took her to the hospital.”

Spike’s head snapped up, and his eyes bore into Anya’s.

“She wasn’t that hurt,” he said, and it was almost a question.

Anya shook her head sadly. “She had another injury, worse than the one you saw.”

A look of pure grief passed over the blonde’s face, but he said nothing. It was quickly decided that they would leave the demon’s remains right where they were, mostly because they were all just too tired to take care of it now. The authorities could have fun trying to find an explanation for them. The second decision, that didn’t need much discussion either, was for all of them to go to the hospital and check on Manon.

Driving away from what was left of Sunnydale High, Angel in the passenger’s seat next to her, Giles, Andrea, Willow and Tara squeezed in the back, Anya felt quiet tears of relief roll down her cheeks. Once, long ago, she had reveled in chaos, had enjoyed causing it. Now, as she rested a protective hand on her still flat belly, she was happy that this world would be safe a bit longer.