So, then, this was the world, going, quite literally, to hell. Ethan had started for the library as soon as the third customer had wandered in stark naked and trying desperately to find the room their final exam was to be held in.
On the way, there was the minor hassle of being waylaid by a vampire in what should have been broad daylight, but somehow was not, but fortunately, Ethan was prepared for such an eventuality and handled the situation with only a little bit of panic, a pinch of herbs, and a shouted, “Burn!” The vampire had burst promptly and satisfyingly into flames, and Ethan was now shoving his way through the doors into the school building, where chaos had already quite clearly broken out.
He watched the panic with a faint grin. Someone had done a number on the town, and it was really quite impressive. He’d been thinking for quite some time now that something had to be done to shake things up here. Not that he’d been considering *doing* anything, of course. He wouldn’t do such a thing.
Really, he wouldn’t.
He was halfway to the library when Willow and Xander burst out of a hallway and crashed into him.
“Whoa,” he said, “Easy. Where the hell are you go--”
“Run now, talk later,” Willow said, grabbing his arm and dragging him. He resisted and looked back. A moment later, a knife-wielding clown, of all things, crashed out of the same hallway, laughing maniacally.
“Damn my morbid sense of curiosity,” Ethan muttered, scrambling away.
Xander, however, had apparently had enough, because he stopped dead, turned around, and punched the clown’s lights out.
It was really rather inspiring.
“Good show,” Ethan said.
“Thanks,” Xander said, then added, to the unconscious form, “You were a lousy clown! Your balloon animals were pathetic! Anyone could make a giraffe!”
*Ah,* Ethan thought, with affection, *Xander and his many and varied and fascinating issues.*
Then, Ethan said, “Where’s Rupert? And the Slayer?”
“Dunno,” Willow said, still panting slightly.
For the first time, Ethan noticed she was wearing stage make-up and a kimono. How very odd.
“Haven’t seen ‘em,” Xander added.
Ah, well. Rupert and Buffy were both perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.
“Right, then,” Ethan said, and kicked away some of the fallen plaster on the floor, clearing off an area large enough for casting. “I assume this is all a very convincing illusion. I have the components for a spell that should render us immune. Might as well do it now, then try to find the others.”
He dropped to his knees and began pulling out the components. Willow knelt beside him, quickly, and took the candles he handed her, setting them up neatly at the proper points without even being told. She learned quickly, had talent. He watched her for a moment as she sparked the lighter and set the first candle to flame. He really would have to have a talk with Rupert about her. At the very least, that Calendar woman should talk to her about magic and its history and morals and all that... well, yes.
A handful of herbs went in the center of the circle, and a ring of sand around the three of them, and then they joined hands.
A scream echoed down the hall, and Xander’s eyes flickered nervously in that direction, but then he focused on the center of the circle, and Ethan began the chant.
He’d just reached the final line when a deep, all-too-familiar laugh boomed through the hallway.
He stopped.
And looked up. And froze.
“Giles?” Willow whispered.
The thing--scales and bat ears and eerily shining eyes--laughed, a low chuckle, that if written out would be “heh heh heh.” Ethan’s insides felt cold, his lips felt numb, as he said, “That’s not Rupert.”
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen, eh, Ethan?” Eyghon said. His eyes flashed like flat green pennies. “Playing with school children when you should be reveling in the pandemonium.”
Ethan breathed slowly, and gripped the children’s hands tightly before they got it into their heads to break the circle. His mind scrambled to remember the proper words, as the demon swaggered closer, wearing his lover’s skin.
“You could have been brilliant. Powerful. But you gave it up. For what?” The demon snorted. “Love? Of this?” It gestured at itself, at Rupert. Ran clawed hands up Rupert’s torso. “Not a good trade.”
The words came back, like a bit of driftwood on a torrent, and he grabbed for them.
“Hear my plea! Lift this veil! Let my eyes see the truth!”
He hurled the words at the monstrosity before him as he might hurl a javelin. He felt the power of the spell rush through him, tingle in his eyes like tears, and then...
Nothing happened.
Eyghon laughed. Then said one word:
“Real.”
Then Ethan was scrambling back, dragging the children with him, away, and Eyghon was lunging for him, and oh god, oh god, oh god, that was *Rupert*, and he was-- and the only way Ethan knew to stop him was-- oh god, no, god no.
They were running, out of the school, into the sunlight, and Eyghon stopped at the door behind them and hissed at the brightness and fell back.
“What was--” Willow said.
“Eyghon. A demon,” Ethan said, feeling the numbness seep back in. It was almost welcome. “He’s... he’s possessed him.”
“Uh, guys, when did they put in a cemetery across the street?” Xander said.
Ethan looked up.
“Yeah, and when did they make it night over there?” Willow said.
“We need to find the Slayer,” Ethan said. She’d know what to do. It was her destiny, after all.
Xander said, “Well, cemeteries and night are kinda the Buffster’s natural habitat, so...”
So they crossed the street. It was a little dizzying, passing so suddenly from daylight to night. Especially since it was real. All real. Oh, god, real. Ethan shook his head, and looked around, and the tombstone caught his eye immediately, and his heart sank.
“Ok, so whose nightmare is this?” Xander was saying.
Ethan walked to the devastating chunk of marble. Buffy Summers, 1981-1997.
“I think,” he said, as he knelt by the grave, “It’s Rupert’s.”
Willow and Xander came up quietly behind him. No one spoke but the wind, whispering through the pines.
Fuck, they were screwed.
And then a hand shot up from the earth and grabbed his own.
A moment later, Buffy had clawed her way out of her grave, and was shaking soil from her hair.
“I thought I was dead!” she said.
*You are,* Ethan thought, backing away, but it was Willow who cried, “Buffy! Your face!”
Ethan watched as Buffy touched the vampiric ridges of her brow.
“Oh, god,” she said, turning away.
Naturally, a Slayer would dream of being turned, he supposed.
“We have to stop this,” he said, the words falling from his lips before he could catch them, stop himself from being so utterly inane.
“Billy,” Buffy said, suddenly.
“What?” Ethan said.
“He’s... he’s got something to do with this. We’ve got to... talk to him. Wake him up? We should go to the hospital.”
Ethan had no idea what she was on about, but she had the kind of desperate hope to her that seemed to suggest it was a good idea, so he kept his distance and said, “Excellent plan. Just try not to eat anyone, will you?”
Still, he slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered his small pouch of incendiary powder. He had no idea if she’d even be capable of not eating anyone, but she was the only one with an idea at the moment.
She looked at him.
“Where’s Giles?”
“Don’t ask,” he said, “Let’s go.”
So, they went, and Buffy did not eat anyone, and as he waited as she did her Slayer thing in the hospital, all he could think about was Rupert.
Then, thank the gods, the kid faced up to his inner demons or whatnot, and suddenly, with a rush, everything was normal. The normality, in fact, was such a shock, it was like leaping into a pool of ice-cold water from a sauna.
He left Buffy and the others to have their touching moment with the poor abused child, and he went back to the school. Nothing stopped him all the way to the library. He burst through the swinging doors to find Rupert pacing in front of the table.
Relief nearly knocked him off his feet.
“Ethan,” Rupert said.
“Rupert,” Ethan returned, oh-so-creatively.
But Rupert half-ran to him, hugged him tight.
“Thank god, you’re all right. I... I don’t remember what happened. I hit my head at some point and--”
Ethan forced a laugh, turned his face towards Rupert and nuzzled behind his ear.
“That’s my Rupert,” he said, then lied, “when the going gets tough, he gets unconscious.”
They held each other for another few seconds, and then Rupert pulled away.
“Have you seen--”
Ethan didn’t completely let go, held Rupert loosely by the elbows, close to him.
“They’re fine. Saved the day, as usual. No permanent scars, except possibly to Willow’s pride.”
Rupert laughed, softly. Then he said, “So, uh, what did you--?”
“Oh, you know,” Ethan said, quickly, extravagantly, “The usual. Public nudity and such.”
Rupert grinned.
“Sorry I missed that.”
“And you?”
“Uh. Well, I-- I got lost in the stacks, and, uh, couldn’t read.”
Ethan had to laugh. He stepped up even closer and slid his arms around Rupert’s waist.
“You are terribly pathetic, love, you know that?”
Rupert just smiled and said, “You love me for it and you know it.”
“In spite of, perhaps,” Ethan said, still smiling. In actuality, of course, he did, and he did know it, but this teasing felt too good to pass up, as did Rupert’s warmth in his arms.
Then, Rupert tossed a glance over at the doors, grinned, and pulled Ethan close and kissed him.
And once again, Eyghon was nothing but a dream and a memory, long ago and far away.
The End
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