Part 117

 

 

 

Maelstrom.  That was the expression Xander was looking for, and Spike obligingly popped it into his head.  It wasn’t the only thing he received from Spike: the vampire’s senses had been fully restored the moment Patrick had uttered that name and, now he was no longer being shielded from surrounding powers and influences, Spike completely appreciated why that protection had been necessary.  It was – and he could find no better impression to share with Xander – a short route to mental and physical madness.  Torment.  Every fibre of his being was assaulted, infiltrated, shredded from within.

Xander was trying to think straight enough to offer Spike some support, finding it difficult to withstand the rushes of energy and emotions that crashed about him, battering and weakening his personal defences.  He was also having a hard time believing that they were still in the attic, not caught in a swirling flurry of terrifying black voids and electric blue streamers and spiralling cloud that came in colours Xander couldn’t name, and a gale so cold it threatened to freeze the moisture on a body’s eyeballs.

And then came the knowledge that He was in there with them.  A presence that stank of age and decay, corruption, fire, sulphur; a presence that burned and withered flesh wherever, in their panic, its victims thought that they had been touched.  It – He – was so close, so close that Xander could feel the hairs on his wrist being brushed over.  Charred.  Dark now and, although it was impossible to judge, Xander suspected that his eyes were closed.  He had to open them, face this monster, this…  Entity.  God.  Grandfather.  Either brave or obstinate enough to confront what he was spurning, Xander made the effort, concentrated on his eyelids.  Made them open.

To meet eyes that hovered before his, vast molten eyes of pure fire, staring into him and longing to take and own.  Xander automatically flinched away, but then, within the bond, he recognised the connections that meant everything to the man he’d become, was becoming: Spike’s love, the family’s love; Jake’s hand tightened on his, reminding him of the importance of contact.

“Leave Alexander alone,” Patrick ordered the entity.  “My son was given the choice you forced upon us, and he has rejected you.  He has known your influence, he has acknowledged the blood ties, and now he denies you.”

The vision of Taranis roared his anger and transformed into an explosion of fire, surging forward to pass through Xander and, real or not, Xander couldn’t prevent himself hollering with the sensations as he felt himself consumed, inside and out, by the flames.

“Not real, love,” Spike’s gentle voice, impossibly audible, shaking from stress as he shared Xander’s experiences.  “Think of me.  Home after a night out and frozen to the core.  Think of me coming to bed and all over you, looking for some heat.  Having you and chilling you from the inside out.”

Xander shuddered with the memory, drawn to Spike and his images, rapidly cooling as his body lived the scenario.  This much concentration and they could see one another again, just a momentary glimpse, before the god swirled intimidatingly around Spike in what appeared to be a stream of molten lava.

“Spike…”

“Don’t you be afraid of Him, Xander.  I’m not.  If He had the power in here to harm us He’d use it, but He doesn’t, so He hasn’t.  It’s all illusion, so what’s there to be afraid of?  I’ve seen Red put on a scarier show for Halloween.”  Spike’s voice rose tauntingly.  “Hear that, you ponce?  You’ve had all the entertainment you’re getting from me, so do us a favour and just fuck off.”

A ripple of appreciation for that statement passed amongst them, and although nobody was prepared to acknowledge the damage that could be done to their minds rather than their bodies, the god understood equally as well and gathered His energy for a suitably malicious retribution, intent on discovering whether His descendants could be literally frightened to death.

A stinking, undulating barrier began to surround them, fleshy and rotting, oozing unimaginable filth that crawled with thread-like maggots that would bore into flesh, and in their minds they could see

“Not real,” Patrick repeated Spike’s earlier message, but the unease had already permeated the group consciousness.  “Face me, father,” Patrick urged, needing the god’s attention to break free of these games.  “Taranis…”

The barrier heaved toward them and, as it touched, they felt the skin on their limbs and torsos bulge and split with the invasion as they were devoured by the ravenous maggots that left trails of suppurating flesh in their wake, felt the gnawing and squirming as their eyeballs were eaten in their sockets, tongues were consumed by maggots that exploded through greed.  The slime from the barrier seeped into the gaping wounds and infiltrated their bodies, burning its way deeper until it invaded essential organs and began the process of liquefaction.  The reality, sensation, the detail was…

It was the worst fears and nightmares and too much of what he’d tried to avoid reading in Giles’ gory books that housed details of the most vile effects of demons and dark magic, and Xander, thoughts breaking apart under the weight of horror, logic evaporating with the fading sense of security as Taranis concentrated on tearing him from the bosom of his family, knew it would stop if he changed his mind, if he switched his allegiance to the god, became His heir.  His possession.  Saved the people he loved by…

“Alexander!  With us!” Patrick commanded, and Xander felt that authority, was able to obey and concentrate once again, bearing the desecration of his self for the greater good.

Another surge from the god and Xander saw the consequences of abandoning his birthright, a rapid cascade of images that began with Spike being dismembered, slice by slice, before his eyes and ended with a near-future Dawn being slowly burned alive, the child in her womb roasted, and accepting his grandfather wasn’t about weakening, it was being strong, saving them all, loving them and saving them, because one sacrifice, his sacrifice, was worth…

It had to be soon, it had to be now, before his indecision brought about Spike’s further torture, Dawn’s gruesome fate, and…  Rafe not moving fast enough on a site and being crushed, dismembered by falling masonry; Beth trapped in her overturned car, cooked alive as it burned around her; Jake and Willow, sharing a brutal violation, demons, white-hot spears, and Willow screaming and cursing Xander because this, all of this, was his responsibility.

Xander twisted his hand, fought the grip that Jake had sworn to keep, fingers beginning to wriggle free as in his tortured mind he saw Moira blessing his decision with the last sane thought in her head, the last breath in her body, the last—

“Love.  Xander, love,” Spike whispered for the hundredth time, sweetness succeeding where all the fraught demands for Xander’s attention had failed.  “Stay with me, love.”

“But I kill you, I kill you all, it’s my fault because…”

“Trust me, don’t you?  Always trust me?”

“Trust you,” Xander whispered as Spike pushed through the fear and horror, there in spirit to coax Xander back into the safety of the family’s fold.  “Oh, God, Spike…  Please.  Don’t let Him – don’t – don’t…”

Xander screamed as the skin was peeled from the back of his body, scalp to heels, and the blazing form of Taranis melded into the exposed flesh and muscles, irreparably polluting his being, raping his body with solid fire.  They all felt it, all buckled emotionally, contact weakening, failing.  Hands…slipping.  Xander’s more than slipping.  He experienced his hand breaking up like overcooked meat, and he could feel his skin ripping and the bones sliding out of the glove of flesh that Jake was still desperately clinging to.  Losing touch and being lost, Xander knew he’d be lost, lost to the people he loved, enslaved to Taranis, and for all the good it would do, the saving of his family, he didn’t want an eternity with a god who he hated with a fervour that would destroy every ounce of decency in him.

Slipping and he was lost, the last sinews attaching him to the life he was losing grew taut and ready to snap.

Defiance.  Breathtaking in its aggression.  The pure white energy that was Xander’s grandmother burst into life, scouring the destructive images from their minds, cleansing and healing the imagined corruption to their bodies; Xander flexed his hand within Jake’s, felt the comforting grasp tighten, felt Moira’s fingers wriggle beneath his own in a message of togetherness.  The bond was reaffirmed and Xander felt weak with relief as he sensed, first Spike, most vividly, and then the remainder of his family, their joint essence spreading and comforting.  Purpose within the group served, the white energy exploded outward from their circle, successfully shattering the hold of Taranis but binding Him, preventing a tactical withdrawal and forcing the old god to face His son.

Painful, seemingly endless centuries Patrick had waited for this moment, and there was quiet relish to be felt when he gave the simple command:

“Taranis.  Take us home.  We have the right to ask, we have fulfilled your every…”  Their stomachs seemed to hit the soles of their shoes as they appeared to lurch upwards.  “Taranis,” Patrick addressed his father again, voice composed, but they could all feel the effort it took to retain that composure.  “Our Earthly home.  The belonging.  Repossession.”

A wail of frustration emerged from the creature and they were heaved sideways, and at such speed that once again they lost the ability to breathe and were fighting for oxygen, wrongly imagining their physical selves beginning to fade, bodies failing through lack of plentiful air.

Xander felt the sun on his face, the warmth of the ground beneath him.  The breeze that fluttered over him smelt of the sea, the heather.  He heard waves upon a shore.  Familiar.  All familiar.

He smiled.  Home.  At last he was home.

Pushing himself up on to elbows he looked around and found himself surrounded by his family, all prostrate in the grass, still vaguely in their positions from the Wheel.  What was not quite so expected was the appearance of each and every one of them, long-haired, Patrick and Rafe bearded, all dressed in comfortable, well-worn clothes in a variety of colours and plaids, the most familiar of the tartans looking a lot fresher than the kilt hanging in the wardrobe at Cedar House.

As Xander gazed around, the most amazing sight struck him.  Not the imposing castle to his far left, or the magnificent view of sea and mountains, but the most beautiful man lying close to him in the sunshine.  Spike – William – dark blond waves fanned out around his head, skin attractively tan, blue eyes sparkling in the natural light of day, expression one of utter astonishment as he experienced his human body and tried not to panic at the heat of the sun on his skin.  As Xander watched, Spike’s hand came up to his chest and pressed, feeling the strong heartbeat; a smile slowly formed and he turned it on Xander, the accompanying words catching in his throat when he saw his lover.

Xander reached up and touched his own face, feeling the beard and grinning; Spike didn’t generally favour the full beard but that wasn’t what his expression was indicating right now.  Maybe the dark hair that blew into Xander’s face with the next gust of wind was a clue to the appeal.

“You look bloody gorgeous,” Xander was told as he struggled to tidy the long tresses, and even if Spike was thinking in modern English, speaking in the language he knew, what emerged was an ancient tongue that Xander understood as easily as his own – in fact, modern English was how he heard it in his head if not through his ears.  They both looked surprised at the discovery, and grinned delightedly.  “What’s colloquial Scottish Gaelic for ‘Get your kit off?’” Spike joked, laughing at the translation that emerged.

“Hey, I’m actually here,” Willow announced excitedly.  “I thought there might be some sort of…waiting room for outsiders, but I got here.”

“Kinda,” Xander said as he looked over at his friend and frowned.

“Kinda?”

They all studied her curiously; Willow didn’t appear quite as substantial as the rest of them.

“That confirms you weren’t part of the original clan,” Patrick explained.  “But don’t worry, you won’t come to any harm.”

Willow turned an alarmed look on Jake, and he automatically took her hand, regaining the contact that had been lost when they arrived.

“I feel you.”  He indicated their joined hands, then raised a fingertip to his temple then tapped his chest.  “I feel you.”

A little concentration and there was general concurrence, much to Willow’s relief.

“What happens now?” Xander asked.  “Can we make ourselves return to the present?”

“Are you in a hurry to get back?”

Xander shook his head at Beth’s question.

“I want the chance to explore this place but…”

“Always a but.  You and your bloody normality,” Spike muttered.

“I want Willow safe.”

“She is, you just heard…”

“We’re going to die here, aren’t we?  We all die here.  How is that keeping Willow safe?”

“She’s not here, Xander, none of us are really here,” Patrick assured him.  “Physically, we’re in the attic of our house.”

“Why this, Pat?  Why something…  That will break our hearts to leave?”

“I warned you of the pain.”

“I thought you meant—  Okay, I don’t know what I thought you meant, but not…  Having this.  Losing this.  Losing…the belonging.”

“That’s the point of this,” Beth interjected.  “The belonging.  If we leave this place with our conscious minds intact, we take it with us, all of it, not just the scraps we’ve been clinging to.  We’re not here to die, Xander, we’re here to live, to live on.”

“No fight to the death?”

“Not today, I think.”

“You’ll remember it,” Jake said solemnly.  “Remember it all.  Appreciate this peace because the moment we leave here your life – lives – will start coming back to you.  It’ll be…”  A sigh and a shrug said it all.  Jake couldn’t meet their eyes, but rose and began to walk away, stopping after a few paces and coming back to lift Willow onto her feet.  There seemed to be a wordless exchange as they stared intently at one another, and then they wandered off, hand in hand, without another sound.

Moments later Moira stood and stretched before crossing to Patrick and repeatedly poking her toes into his right buttock.  He looked up at her with a curious grin.

“Come along, husband, let’s take in a few old haunts.”

Patrick rose, as did Beth and Rafe, and, after checking and finding that Xander and Spike were staying put for now, the four linked hands as they strolled off toward the castle, joking about behaving, or rather misbehaving, with husbands and sons.

Xander followed them with his eyes, smiling at the familiar pull in his chest when Patrick stopped to haul Moira into a giggling embrace and kiss her soundly.  His parents.  He couldn’t imagine having a stronger sense of it than at that moment.  He drew breath to explain the feeling to Spike, but saw from the expression on his face that he was already sharing and understanding.

They experienced the group’s humour as Rafe prised Moira from Patrick’s grasp and dipped to throw her over his shoulder, running off down the hill with her shrieking laugh ringing out in the quiet, experienced the happiness and love as Patrick and Beth hugged and kissed before chasing after them.

Left alone on the ridge, Xander and Spike laid in silence for a long time.  The terror of the void seemed a lifetime ago, and they relished the peace of this – their – time and place.

Sun, wind, scent, sea.   William.

Sense.  For Xander.  At last.

“Can you forgive him?” Spike eventually asked.

“For?”

“Your par—  The Harris’ demise.”

“They’re still my parents.  Adoptive parents, I guess.  You think they knew that, somehow?  I wasn’t like them so they couldn’t…care.  Couldn’t care enough.  ‘Cause they must have cared some to look after me, even if they weren’t…”  Xander stopped himself.  Took a deep breath.  “You heard what Pat said.  It wasn’t him.”

“It was a reaction to…”

“Yeah, I know, but you honestly think he could’ve stopped Taranis?”  A moment’s consideration and Spike shook his head.  “Me neither.  It’s all pretty messed up but I’ll deal.  I know that I appreciate Pat more than I resent him, is that okay for now?”

“Course it is.”

“You still feel Hugh?”

“Not really, not here.  He’d been dead over twenty years at this point in time, hadn’t he?”  Spike stared wistfully out over the water that had claimed his first father.  “Long gone.”

Another silence, until this time Xander broke it.

“I remember…”

“The wind is warm but it was cold before, it was cutting.  Cutting me.  I can see the sea.  There’s the smell of…  It isn’t grass, I don’t know.  And earth, that’s…  The wind is warm now and I can see the sea.”  Xander’s eyelids drooped and he was lost to it.  “Sun’s high.  It’s time.  Where’s…  Waiting and waiting and the wind is warm and I see…  I’ll wait, I can wait.”

“Where are you, Xander?”

“It isn’t grass.”  Xander’s hands clenched.  “Rough.  Nothing new.  Sun’s high.”

“Are you waiting for William?”

“If he doesn’t…  I’ll wait.  Sun’s dipping.  Clouds.  The wind was warm and now it’s cold.  Cutting.  And he’s not…  I’ll wait.  Until I see.  Wait.”

“I remember sitting here, waiting for you.  Staring at the sea and searching for your boat.  You’d been away for so long and…  I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“After what happened to Hugh, you must have been wary.”

“I was so young I barely knew him, but I was told he was—”  Xander glanced sheepishly at Spike.

“Good with tides?  And I wasn’t?  I’ll have you know I never unintentionally got my feet wet, Xander, you just thought I was inept.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I let you think that, it suited me to tease you.”

“You weren’t nice.”

“I was nice.  Eventually.”

“Before eventually?”

Spike shrugged.

“I might have been…not so nicely trying to get you to notice me.”

They shared a grin and Spike fell back into the grass, luxuriating in the sunshine.  Xander, having some difficulty crawling in a great kilt, finally managed to reach Spike and collapse onto him, head on his chest, his warm chest, ear pressed over his pounding heart.

“Cool,” Xander chuckled.  “My live dead undead cousin boyfriend guy.  How many states are we illegal in now?”

“Sod that, we had our own laws.  Lords of the Isles.  Has quite a ring to it, eh, love?”

“Is everything in the book?  So when we go back we can read and figure it all out, all the – what did Jay call them?  Patterns?  Reflected patterns?”

“It’s all there.  The clan’s history and my personal journal.  Just skimming I could see what he was talking about.  Hating, loving, time apart, not enough time together, it’s all in there.”

A light gust of wind and Xander disappeared beneath his hair for the nth time.  He spat strands out of his mouth and sat up, irritably pushing it out of his face.

“God, I need a haircut.  Will you cut it for me when…”  Xander started to giggle with childish glee.  “We live in a castle.  Spike.  We live in a goddamn castle!”

Spike grinned and reached through the grass, drawing out a fine leather thong from Xander’s side.

“C’mere.  I’ll tie it back for you.”

Xander glanced around as Spike sat up alongside him.

“What is that?  A worm?  You’re going to tie my hair with a worm?”

“It’s leather, you arse.”

“Thought maybe it was some quaint Scottish custom: worm accessories.”

“Leather.  Tucked in your waistband, same…  Same as ever.”

Spike moved behind Xander, one leg on either side of his hips, and he patiently gathered the unruly dark hair up and tied it with the thong.  That done, Xander leant back, into an embrace that, for once, didn’t need to be tempered for fear of vampire strength crushing human bones.

“I’m not looking forward to going back into whatever that place is with…y’know…Him.”

“You know you’re safe.”

“Sure, but knowing and believing are two different things.  Jesus, he scared me.”

“Hateful old bastard.  Sooner we’re rid of him the better.”

“You think we ever will be?  Really rid of him?  If he’s family he’s not going to suddenly stop being family.”

“Rid of his influence.  His attention.”

“When he went through me…”  Xander shuddered.

“After this he won’t be able to touch you, not like he has been doing.”

“Do we know that?”

“What’d be the point of this, of making a choice if he still could tap into you when he felt like it?”

“I keep thinking ceremony.  No-one’s said it aloud, but it keeps popping into my head.  I think ceremonial and there’s bloodshed and screaming and we may as well be back in Sunnydale.”

“Ceremony…” Spike mused, taking the opportunity to suck Xander’s earlobe while he thought.

“Hot mouth,” Xander murmured.  “Never imagined I’d feel a naturally hot mouth on me again.  I know yours is sometimes, if you’ve been drinking tea and…”

“Want to feel it somewhere else?”

“Uh…  Not while we’re all picking up on each other, no.  You’re for me, not for sharing.”

“What if we’re like this for…a year?”

“Then…  I lied.  Share and share alike.”

Spike laughed softly and got back to thinking purer thoughts.

“It’s all this,” he concluded.  “The ceremony is this, what we’re experiencing, and it’s only ‘ceremony’ for want of a better word.”

“You’re very convincing.”

Their attention was caught by movement; a young man halfway up the hill, waving his arms.

“Xander, Will, have you seen Pádraig?” he called in Gaelic.

“Fuck, you think it’s safe to tell him?” Xander panicked.

“Calm down, love, these are our folk, we’re safe here.”

“And maybe it was me telling this guy where Pat is that got us all killed.”

“You can’t change history, you can’t…”

“Hey, I know about changing history, one stupid word spoken out of turn, a wish…”

“This history then.  Or Patrick would have warned us.”

“So?” asked the youth who was now stood beside them.  “Pádraig?”

At second glance Xander recognised him immediately, and his face broke into a massive smile that was returned with some amusement.

“Tom!  How have you been?”

“Since I saw you an hour ago?  I’ve managed to stay quite well.”

“Pádraig went to Dunscaith,” Spike told him, referring to the castle.  “I don’t think he wanted to be disturbed.  What’s the problem?”

“The Freuchie man,” Tom said disparagingly.  “Here to ‘negotiate’.”

Spike understood the distaste and nodded.

“Go to the castle and find Pádraig.  Hurry.”

Tom took the order without question, starting away at speed, slowing to turn back with a grin.

“Makes a nice change.  You two not trying to kill each other.”

“Who’s the freaky guy?” Xander demanded the moment Tom was out of earshot.

“Froo-key.  He was in the Chronicles.  Sir John Grant of Freuchie.  The king’s man, the one who finished us off.”

“Oh, fuck!”  Xander leapt to his feet.  “We have to…have to…  What do we have to do?”  He stared down at Spike and made hurrying gestures.  “Spike!”

“Nothing we can do, love.  This happened centuries ago.”

“I’m going to find Pat and…  Maybe do nothing, okay, but I have to find Pat.”

Resigned to humouring Xander, Spike put out a hand and was yanked to his feet.  His hair streamed out in the rising wind, and Xander was caught and held by the picture Spike made, with the tan and the sun-bleached blond and the blue eyes that squinted in unfamiliar light.

“What?” Spike enquired, wondering where the urgency had disappeared to.

“You.”

“Me?”

“William.”

“Oh, that me.”

“You.  All you.  Love you.”  Xander darted forward and pressed a kiss to Spike’s mouth, backing off as fast.  Spike quirked an eyebrow.  “That’s it, that’s all you get.  Allow myself any more and I’ll be out of control and we’ll be treating everyone on our particular network to live Highland porn.”

“But, love…  I’m naked under this kilt.”

“Nyah!  Don’t want to hear that!”

“And I don’t want to waste the chance to…”

Xander bounded off in the direction of the castle, hair, kilt, swathe of tartan over his shoulder flapping as he ran, and Spike smiled, admired, and pursued.

 

On the far side of the castle, down by the shore of Ob Gauscavaig, Willow and Jake were squashed together on a rock and gazing up at Dunscaith.

“Local legend insists the castle was built in one night,” Jake was explaining, and he quoted, in a thick Scottish accent:

“All night the witch sang, and the castle grew,
Up from the rock, with tower and turrets crowned.
All night she sang.
  When fell the morning dew,
‘Twas finished round and round.”

“Is that possible?  Seeing as there was a god involved…?”

“Nothing mystical about Dunscaith,” Jake insisted.  “We stole it from the McAskills.”

“Have you been back?”

“Many times.  And today – the day we left behind in America – the castle is nothing but a crumbling ruin.  I’ll show you the photos.”

“I’d like that.”

“The MacDonalds eventually moved on, built again at…”

“Moved on?  The way Beth explained it to me, the clan was wiped out.”

“I know.  Bethia’s Lords were slaughtered and that’s the tale she tells.  But there were survivors.  We know, don’t we, that there are always survivors.  The original line, the one that the gods hadn’t tinkered with, was restored.”

“I’d like to visit one day.  One modern day, with planes and connections that don’t leave me iced over and gasping for oxygen.  I’m not too keen to repeat the leaping through time experience.”

“Wasn’t nice, was it?” Jake grossly understated, and Willow nudged him until he smiled.  “I’d be happy to come back.  Always.  And let’s face it, we’ll all be coming here.  Rafe has never seen this place, and Xander’s bound to want to visit, and…  I’m sure arrangements could be made for Spike.  It must get tiresome, seeing everything from the shadows, or at night.”

“It has the advantage of making him a little less combustible.”

Jake grinned at that.

“I can’t imagine him as vulnerable to anything.  I know what he is, I understand the limitations of his kind; I know what he’s been through and I understand the scars.  But Spike – the Spike I know…  Invulnerable.”

“He’d like that, have you told him?”

“He’s probably guessed.”

“Were you and William good friends?”

Jake considered.

“You think that’s it, that’s where my trust comes from?  ‘Cause Will was…indomitable.  We were born a couple of months apart and we grew up together, and he had the face of an angel but…”  Jake laughed at the memories.  “…he’d get us into all kinds of trouble.  I was jealous of him being so fearless, and always gullible enough to follow where he led.  There were moments when…”

Jake’s voice faded; Willow could see, feel his sadness, the losses that still haunted him.  She cuddled closer, arm around his back, head resting on his shoulder.

“It will take time to recover from what you’ve been through,” she said with great sympathy.  Empathy.  “And time’s something you have plenty of.  Together, now, all of you.”

He leant his head against hers.

Us.  All of us.”

“You’ll let me help you?”

“If you’ll let me help you.”

“But I—”  Five minutes passed.  Five minutes of Willow persuading herself to be brave enough for this future.  Brave enough to leave a tragic past behind.  “Yes,” she whispered with a lightening heart.  “Please.”

 

Inside the castle Xander was searching for Patrick but Spike had other ideas; the more composed of the two, he recalled this home in greater detail, and gradually manoeuvred Xander to privacy rather than company.  Xander was standing in the centre of his own bed chamber before he realised where Spike was guiding him, and as he turned to protest he found Spike leaning back against the firmly closed door, studying him with predatory eyes.  Xander’s whole body tensed expectantly, knowing the look so well, and knowing the usual outcome.

“We can’t.”

“Want you, Xander.”

“When we get home, when we’re not so…”

“I won’t be human then.”

The wistful tone caught Xander by surprise, and he didn’t like it one little bit.

“Tell me this is about trying something new.  Being human isn’t something you want, is it?  Usually?”

“Be pointless wanting it, wouldn’t it?  Usually.”

“Ah, Spike, don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Tell me you want things to be different.  Things we can’t change.”

“I’m not looking for changes.  Just thought…  The way we are, right now…”

“What if it does something to me?  Makes me want William, this, the original, or – or my William?  I seem to get screwed up so easily, Spike, what happens if I stop wanting vampire you?  I spend all my time pining, and you spend all yours mourning.  No way I’m risking that.”

“And what if…this is William wanting Alexander?”

“I’d know.”

Spike pushed off from the door and sauntered over.  Despite thinking it would be wise to move and make himself less of an easy target, Xander remained stock-still.  Wanting, but not allowed to want, because whether it was about broadcasting the event, or avoiding dire complications, he knew better than to let Spike…  Touch him.  Hold him.  Kiss him.

“No harm, eh?”

Spike kissed him again, pressed close, and Xander felt William’s heart thudding in excitement.  He wriggled a hand between them and laid it on Spike’s chest.

“That feels so incredibly…wrong,” he chuckled, and Spike gave him a gentle smile.

“You scared, love?  Really?  Not playing hard to get?”

“Wary.  And not playing,” Xander confirmed.

Spike or William, either was defenceless against Xander’s pleading eyes.

“Then…”  One final kiss and sighed capitulation.  “Let’s find Pádraig, see about getting out of here before the carnage begins.”

 

The family met up in the castle’s great hall, drawn together by the growing concern that had begun with Xander and gradually infected them all.

“There was a boy…” Spike started.

“I saw him,” Patrick confirmed.  “This is as it was, and there’s nothing we can do.”

“Not even move some of our people away?” Rafe asked.  “I didn’t realise it would be so disturbing, seeing people I don’t know but I – I know.  Can’t we save some of them at least?”

“You know we can’t,” Patrick said regretfully.  “That isn’t what we’re here for.”

“There are women and children about to be slaughtered, Pat.”

“I’m sorry.  Truly.  I don’t want to experience that part of this either, but…”

“I hate this!” Rafe snapped, turning sharply and having his hand caught by Moira before he could storm off.  “I hate this,” he said, more restrained as his wife comforted him.

“You all know why we’re here.  Try to hold onto that.”

They each recalled Beth’s explanation: the need for them to pass from this place in a conscious state.  They were collectively chilled at what it meant for them.

“How do we live through our deaths?”  Xander looked around him at the familiar faces, dreading just about any answer.

“As spectators,” came joint number one on the list of what Xander was hoping not to hear.

“I don’t want to see…”

“No choice, Xander.  I’m sorry, you have to know it all.”

“And – and…  Does Willow have to go through this?  She isn’t…”

Yes, she is.  Willow’s family now, she’ll experience everything.”

Xander was about to launch into a futile argument when he felt Willow’s hand slip into his.  Hoping she’d managed to grasp the principles of the bond, she pushed her feelings through to Xander, quashing his overprotective objections with her own calm optimism.

“You shouldn’t have to watch us die,” Xander muttered.

“I’m prepared as I can be.  And if knowing means a happy ending…”

Yes, Xander got that, but…  Fuck.

“Can we choose when to leave?” Rafe asked.  Patrick nodded.  “Then let’s get out of here.”

“The clan isn’t attacked for days.  You don’t want to get to know your home, your people better?”

“The home we lose and the people we leave in pools of their own blood?  Strangely enough, no, Pat,” Rafe said bitterly.  “I’ve seen enough and I’ve…I’ve already felt too much.”

“You all feel the same?” Patrick asked.

The family took quick, confirming glances amongst themselves.

“They’re not like us, Paddy,” Jake observed.  “They can’t put it in context yet.  It’s…it’s…”

“An end not a beginning,” Spike supplied what Jake was groping for.

“Yes.  Whereas we know it’s a beginning, not an end.”

Patrick accepted, but sadly.

“We’re leaving?”

Definitely a general consensus and Patrick bowed to the group’s decision; he looked around, absorbing the atmosphere for the last few moments, then leading them to where a Wheel was carved into the wooden floor.

“Don’t look so scared,” Beth smiled at Xander.  “Taranis has failed to secure you, and the gods who witnessed his oath will ensure he’s true to it.”

“No more fire?  No more…”  Xander’s stomach rolled at the memories of their earlier experiences.

“The conditions of the void, but nothing more harmful.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Then call upon the gods, those that witnessed the oath.”

“No.  Absolutely no.  No more gods, all finished with gods.”  As Beth turned to whisper to Patrick, Xander turned to Spike.  “Wish I could hold onto you in there.  Better still, wish you could hold onto me.”

Spike gave a warm smile.

“Alexander, Lord of the Isles.  Legend has it that you knew no fear.”

“Legend couldn’t find its ass with both hands,” Xander muttered darkly as Patrick stepped into the Wheel, and the MacDonalds of Sleat prepared to observe their gruesome and untimely end.

This time they quickly took their positions, reassured yet not quite reassured that Taranis wasn’t waiting to ambush them, ready for and tensed against the forces within the symbol; buffeted, frozen, fearful of what they had no choice but to witness, they brought their hands together, and Patrick very deliberately studied the faces of his family, their true appearances, spending longer over Spike – his beloved, lost, human William – who was, once again, about to surrender the warmth of the sun.

“Don’t mourn for me,” William whispered to his father, and Patrick’s face scrunched in upset for a moment before it was turned skywards and his lips moved silently, demanding that Taranis restore all that was rightfully theirs.

Briefly seen, looming over them in the darkness, ghostly visions the size of the Empire State Building, eerily benevolent despite their fearsome appearances.

“Teutates,” Patrick deferentially acknowledged one god.  “Esus,” the other.

Teutates raised a massive hand in greeting, and a vibration that conveyed ‘good journey’ passed through those who watched in awe.  The vision of Esus shimmered, and another vibration communicated their freedom to pass in safety.

“Gods,” thought Xander as the beings faded.

“Gods,” Patrick thought back with a satisfaction that betrayed his roots.

“Wow.”  What else was there to say?  “Wow.”

 

Time zipped disconcertingly past them, bringing garbled images of nondescript happenings up until the minutes before the fateful attack, when abruptly they were back in normal time and, unexpectedly, more than watching.  Feeling.

Each member of the family saw – experienced – themselves as they were at that precise moment…

Pádraig and Robert were wandering through the outer encampment before retiring for the night, stopping at intervals to talk with their men; Bethia was also beyond the castle walls, helping a friend to expel the latest of her brood; Moira and John played chess in front of the crackling fire in the great hall.

Alexander and William were, predictably, together.  Xander and Spike smiled as they witnessed their ancient counterparts wallowing in the afterglow of their lovemaking, sharing private thoughts and softly laughing at meaningless jokes, so obviously besotted with one another that the modern-day relationship, the reflection of this past, finally made perfect sense.

Xander wondered for an instant what Willow was seeing, where exactly she was.  ‘With Jake’ she answered wordlessly, and hope shot through Xander, through the bond, his longing for her to form a relationship that would be more than self-imposed disinterest and casual sex.  He was desperate for her to connect and be happy, and this – Willow being here with him – seemed much more ‘too good to be true’ than all the other nonsense put together.

Just as they were being lulled into a sense of false security…

Commotion and screaming hit their senses, and the end was upon them, Grant’s forces swarming through the encampment and setting upon Dunscaith.

Alexander and William were scrambling out of bed, into woollen shirts and throwing reams of material about themselves with the experience of years, strapping it into place with belts and suddenly dressed in crude kilts, stamping their feet into leather boots.  Seizing claymores and dirks they fell out of Alexander’s bed chamber, tripping over the wolfhound that was waiting outside, bristling and growling at the noise.

Hamish at their heels they hurtled along passages and down spiral staircases, through to the castle’s inner ward, already seeing the first signs of skirmish and heading for the various places they guessed their family would be, splitting up to cover more ground.  Xander felt Spike’s grief and horror through the bond and had relayed to him the sight of the motionless form of Bethia huddled over a child she had been trying to protect, both of them viciously hacked and run through and very clearly dead, hair and clothes black and wet with blood.

Anguish flooded the bond, waves and waves, building as each person saw the scene through Spike’s eyes and added their individual quota of distress.

“I’m here,” Beth assured them, but it did little to overcome the impact of seeing her mutilated body.  “We’re here, we’re together, and we will live on.  Take comfort in the knowledge that we will live on.  Don’t be consumed by…”

Anger and hatred drove the men on as Bethia’s murderers came within reach of the swords of William and Alexander.  Individually they threw themselves into the fray, unconsciously working their way toward each other as they fought; John fell in alongside Alexander, and they were all aware of Moira skirting them, rushing to Bethia, ignoring warning shouts not to expose herself to their weakest flank.  A waste of breath; she found the lifeless body of her dearest friend and turned with a scream of rage, taking a sword from one of the fallen men and launching herself at the nearest intruder.

Others joined them, and they seemed to be making a successful defence until shouts from the rear alerted them to a further party of Grant’s men who had somehow managed to sneak around them.  A snarl from the wolfhound made William turn, swiftly enough to see Hamish hurl himself at the nearest threat to his master; one flash of light on swooping metal and the hound was collapsing onto the cobbles, head bouncing and landing several feet away from the twitching carcass.

As William and a few of their men fought the new wave of attackers, Alexander battled his way over to Moira who was weakening under the rain of blows from a man twice her size; as he approached his mother he grabbed up an axe and, with a mighty swipe, cleaved the man’s skull in two.  Arm looping around her waist, he hurried Moira toward relative safety; no more than a few steps and her body went limp, unable to help as Alexander heaved her to the foot of the keep wall and laid her down.  An arrow shaft jutted from the back of her neck: her spine had been severed.  The young man watched in shock and disbelief, trying to catch the words from her silently moving lips for the few seconds before her eyes became dull and lifeless.

Within the Wheel Xander wept unashamedly; Moira’s hand trembled beneath his, and his fingers curled and gripped and felt the life there.

“Together we will live on,” came the reminder.  “Take comfort.”

John was suddenly at Alexander’s side, and the elder brother pulled his sibling away from their mother’s body, directing him to find their father and Robert, returning to fight alongside William even as he keenly watched John’s departure.  As John reached the gatehouse a fresh swarm of Grant’s men poured through, and he was instantly set upon, standing no chance against three assailants; Alexander observed his brother’s end, a sword slicing diagonally through his back, swiping again through his right side.  Not even a murmur as his body slumped to the ground.

Now Jake’s hand tightened over Xander’s, his shaking making its way through to Moira.

“Love you, Mumma,” he pushed hard into the bond.  “Love you, Xander.”

Through the struggling throng Alexander met William’s eyes.

“Pádraig,” they mouthed as one, and Alexander nodded, finishing off the man he was fighting and breaking away, ducking and weaving past the warring men and eventually finding himself in the outer encampment, running toward the most ferocious part of the battle.

Once again clashing with enemy soldiers, he fought his way through and came upon an eerie scene: Pádraig, crushed and bleeding, but being held in place and belatedly protected by some magical force, undoubtedly the intervention of an unpredictable god.  Robert was defending his apparently helpless form against impossible odds, and when he saw Alexander he simply shook his head, nodded in the direction Alexander had only just come from, sending him back to help secure Dunscaith.

The air around the present-day family shuddered as Robert met his death, unseen by Xander and Spike, but felt in all its agonising detail.

“Still here,” Rafe announced gratefully.

“Take comfort.”

As Alexander approached where he’d left William he heard a choked cry that turned his blood cold; a momentary falter and then he was ferociously hacking his way through to his lover, thankful that the fight was moving on and he was able to get to his side before the end.  Alexander fell to his knees in viscous red mud, alongside William who was rapidly bleeding to death from a deep gash in his throat.  Alexander attempted to staunch the flow, crying and pleading not to be abandoned, finally accepting the futility of his actions and pulling William into his arms, cradling him and becoming drenched in his blood.  A last met gaze, and the light in the blue eyes unimaginably faded.  Died.

“I love you.  I never told you.  I love you, Will.”  Fervently whispering, kissing rapidly cooling lips, tears pouring down his face and dripping onto William’s still features.  “I love you so much.  I love you, Will, and I can’t live without you.  I’ll be with you soon.  We’ll be at peace soon.”

It was with faint surprise that Alexander felt the blow to his back and looked down to see the point of a sword sticking out of his chest.  A jubilant cry that the heir had been slain filled his ears, and it meant nothing more to him than release.  Alexander slowly folded over the body of his beloved William, and contentedly relinquished the bonds of mortality.

The atmosphere was indescribable, a confusion of miseries, fears, rages, gut-wrenching, heart-rending mourning.  Xander hated that he couldn’t hold Spike, reassure himself, both of them, and he knew those emotions were prevalent throughout the group.

“Take comfort,” had a hollow ring to it in the wake of their destruction.

“Spike?” Xander thought/spoke.  “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I will be,” the tremulous answer came back.  “When I can touch you, make sure you’re whole.  When I see my dog with his head attached.”

“We’ve seen what we had to see here, Paddy,” Jake voiced the group’s unspoken feeling.  “We’ve survived our deaths, we don’t have to see the rest, the memories will come back on their own.”

“At speed?” Patrick asked for confirmation.  “The end result will be…harsher.”

Resolve rippled through the circle.

“Do it.”

“Let’s go home,” Rafe added on all their behalves.

 

The images began to speed up until they passed in a flurry of light and colour and sound, and they were being torn through time once more, heading toward the future: their present.  Patrick’s voice filled their heads, soft against the brutally harsh conditions of the Wheel.

“While the mortally wounded body of their only remaining son was held in stasis, my mother and father bickered, creating a storm of such magnitude throughout the Highlands that even the hardiest of people hid and shook in terror.  My mother was admittedly a lesser, weaker god, one who had had motherhood forced upon her by my father’s vile ways, but she loved her children, and she fought and negotiated and begged, and finally got her way.

“Taranis would give his son the chance to live on and reclaim his loved ones, and they were blessed, or perhaps cursed, to be reborn through the generations; if the family could be reunited – repossessed – Taranis would return to them all that they had lost, time and power.  He furnished me with the energy to survive the centuries, not knowing how I would exploit this gift to keep my loved ones with me.

“When he discovered my subterfuge he was not best pleased and, as far as he could without going against the unbreakable, witnessed oath he had made to my mother, effectively starved us, restricting the help I could offer my family, trying to make me too weak to complete Repossession.”

Beth took up the narrative:

“A gift of the best intentions from the viewpoint of the mother, but Taranis could not give kindly, and in a prime example of his vindictiveness, he reflected on Alexander’s last words and twisted the agreement; the peace his grandson longed for was stolen away.  Resentful of Xander’s willingness to die for these lowly mortals when Taranis had such high hopes of reclaiming the boy, the heir was cursed to relive the pattern of his life, with the hardships and cruelties accentuated, and the closer William, his dearest love, got to him, the more likely that he would suffer a similar fate.”

“I was expected to give up,” Patrick continued, “crawl apologetically back to the fold, to Him, and forget this…nonsense.  How…how could I?  Knowing you’d all endlessly return and we’d never truly be happy until we were all together again?  Knowing Xander would be made to suffer for his words for eternity.”

Their passage slowed a little so Patrick could witness Beth at the time he’d found her, before rushing along to the next family member and glimpsing Jake in his last natural life.  The trauma began to fade as life rather than death became the focus, and the freezing conditions within the Wheel no longer seemed to reach into their hearts.

“Can I see William?” Xander asked.  “The William I knew?  D’you mind, Spike?”

“No.  I’m curious, myself.”

“Concentrate on seeing this through Spike,” Patrick advised, “or you’ll see yourself at that time.”

It wasn’t long until the blur slowed to a more comprehensible pace, and Xander’s affection flooded through them as he focused on Spike’s perceptions and saw the authentic version of the William he’d come to know and love.  A further swell of delight from them all as he was seen with his brother, Robert, swiftly followed by sympathy for Spike’s strong feelings of longing and regret at the sight of his nineteenth-century mother.

“Move us on, eh?  To…that night.  I want Xander to see.  All of you to see how you lost William.”

“We know,” Beth told him, but a jump forward and they were watching William at a swish social function, poring over his work as he struggled to find the right word to complete a phrase in the poem he was writing.

“Bugger, not this bit; fast forward, Pádraig.”

Another jump and William was rushing from the party, flustered and juggling his papers, realising he’d dropped his treasured fountain pen in the house’s vestibule and turning back to fetch it.  He barely noticed the young man picking the pen up and offering it to him with a courteous smile, when over the stranger’s shoulder he could see the laughing face of Cecily and all he knew was the sting of her brutal rejection.  Distraught at knowing he was the subject of further ridicule, William ran off.  Now, though, Spike saw the face of the man who was left holding his pen, and a burst of good humour heaved through the bond.

“I knew I’d give it back to you one day,” Jake said as he basked in Spike’s delight.

“Drusilla,” Xander’s whisper pulled them back to the scene they were there to witness, and it became plain that more of the family were involved here because the scene opened up to take in the entire street where William first encountered the creatures who would relieve him of his human existence.

Xander saw Patrick and Beth, dressed in the finery of the time, urgently pursuing William until they came face-to-face with Angelus and Darla.  He immediately understood that, so close to Repossession and starved of energy by his father, Patrick was not strong enough for a confrontation with two master vampires; a despondent retreat had been the only option.

“What possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?” Drusilla was asking a nervous William in the alley he’d fled to.

“Nothing.  I wish to be alone.”

“I see you.  A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory.”

“I don’t need to see this,” Xander muttered over the scene playing inexorably out.  “I don’t want to see William…”

“Become me?”

“Hurt.”

“Only hurt for a moment, love, I promise.  Then all the bigger hurts were gone.”

“But…”

“Watch.”

“Your wealth lies here...” Drusilla gestured to William’s heart.  “…and here.”  His head.  “In the spirit and... imagination.  You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine.”

Through, or perhaps inside Spike, Xander felt William’s blossoming joy that someone could, at last, see him.

“Oh, yes!  I mean, no.  I mean...mother's expecting me.”

“I see what you want.  Something glowing and glistening.  Something...effulgent.”

“Effulgent.”

“Do you want it?”

The invitation was wonderfully seductive and William had no hesitation in responding.

“Yes.  God, yes.”

Yes, okay, he got that William had never regretted his turning, knew that he wouldn’t have Spike without these actions, but Xander was furious at this assault and he literally switched off, forcing his attention toward himself at that time and finding the Xander of eighteen-eighty-eight safely tucked up and fast asleep in a cheap dosshouse on the other side of London.

“A few days after we lost William, you passed through London to the docks,” Patrick explained, having followed him to this kinder image.  “We made your acquaintance, discovered that you were planning on finding passage to America.  It seemed natural to accompany you, and the family was transferred to the States.  You…  You died, but we found and secured Moira.  And eventually…”

“William?”

“We lost track of William.  We could only hope that in time the homing instinct would come to the fore and he’d seek us out.  Or if the vampire died, the ties would at last be severed and William would be free to be reborn.”

Aware of Xander’s upset, Patrick turned his attention back to their journey, reducing the revelations of their past lives to a smear of colour against the black of the void.

“Are we going home now?  I kinda need Spike.”

“I’m here.”

“That’s not enough.”

“We’re going home,” Patrick interrupted.  “It’ll be minutes.  I just want to…”

“Pass me by,” Moira accurately pre-empted, “I think we could all do with a little of our own reality.”

Immensely glad to be going home, frantically relieved that Taranis no longer seemed able to pursue his malicious games, Xander barely had time to remember that ‘at speed’ the end result would be ‘harsher’ before they were in the attic and it hit: the sensation of being torn apart, in his mind, yes, but this had to be more than in his mind because he felt a hot, wet splatter across his face and it didn’t take any imagination to know what that was.

Too much pain to discern one agony from the next as the feelings ricocheted throughout the Wheel, accentuated and intensified and showing no signs of stopping.

Motivated by the frightening realisation that he could no longer feel Spike individually, haunted by the thought of changes that could occur and Spike’s condition being the least predictable, Xander managed the supremely difficult task of turning his head.

He desperately needed to see Spike.

And all he saw was blood.

 

 

Repossession 118       Repossession Index       Repossession Notes

 

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