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[personal profile] last01standing
Title- The Fallen
Rating- pg-13 (violence)
(other story info on chapter one)

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Four- Awakenings

Ben woke.

Odd patterns of light danced above him, a disconcerting combination of stars and magic. Voices seemed to echo despite the seemingly endless waste of what at one time was Sunnydale. “Sacrifice starts it.

Sacrifice, Ben was sure, would also end it.

When the blood stops flowing…

He was supposed to be dead.

You see, she’s a hero. She’s not like us.

He should be dead. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand living. The death at the foot of the tower had been a fitting end to a sorry life. A miserable half existence.

His chest heaved and his lungs filled with more blood than air. He tried to focus his eyes, but his vision doubled and spun.

He thought he could make out a female face with black eyes that seemed to laugh.

And Ben suddenly realized that it wouldn’t just be Glory using him.

Anya jerked upright. “Tara?” She pushed herself up quickly, scanning the area. “Tara are you still here?”

She spotted her about ten yards away, busy doing some sort of a spell. Anya scrunched up her nose. Spells in her experiences ended badly. The last time she was ever involved with a spell, she brought back a slayer who was still more dead then alive and created a dimension hopping beast. And the time before that she’d conjured up a troll. And before that there had been the vampire Willow debacle. “What are you doing Tara?”

She spun round one her heels, a small beam of light suddenly hovering in front of her. “I’m sending out for Willow.”

Anya swatted at the little beam of light and only barely caught a hint of something disappearing behind Tara. “The thing looks like a bug. Why don’t you just teleport us there?”

“Do you re-re-remember,” Tara stuttered, “when Willow t-teleported Glory. She had nose bleeds for w-weeks.”

“So? I think this would be a little easier than teleporting a god.” Anya shot back, placing a hand on her hip.

“I-I’ve never tried it. And Willow is much better then me at things like this.”

“Then let’s start walking.” Anya squinted into the sun and realized that they must have slept through the night. The thought made her laugh out loud. Because if anyone ever had fallen asleep outside in Sunnydale, they would be dead. The giggles began to border hysterics and Anya could feel Tara’s eyes on her, but somehow she just didn’t care. Because Anya had survived a night in Sunnydale. And if she could do that she’d be okay.


“We’ve got a problem,” Wesley told the assembled group.

“You mean besides Peaches keeping up his dark cloud, the cheerleader dying and me being just a tad bit incorporeal.” Spike made a show of rolling his eyes, “because unless it’s something new, I’m not interested.”

A chorus of, “Shut up Spike.” came immediately.

“What have you got Wesley?”

“Murder suicide. Last night,” he said gravely. “A man named Lloyd Reylord was brought into a psychiatric facility rambling about the end of the world. A doctor went in to talk to him and Reylord slit his throat, and then stabbed himself in the chest. Doctors tried to save him, but the internal bleeding was too heavy. He died at nine sixteen this morning.”

Fred looked over his shoulders at the picture, wrinkling her nose. “Pretty gruesome.”

Gunn put up a hand. “What I don’t get is what this has to do with us.”

“There was no knife.”

Lorne made a face. “So what? The guy had claws or something?”

“No, a nurse swears he had a knife, at least he did before it disappeared. His mentions of the end of the world are parallel to several other cases around the state. I believe that we may have an apocalypse on our hands.”

“Goodie,” Spike muttered. “My favorite.”

Wesley surveyed the group. “I suggest we keep this within our group. Hard as it may seem to believe, Wolfram and Hart still are the bad guys. We can’t change things this quickly.”

Fred smiled, and pushed back her hair. “Just like old times right?”


“When’s the last time you’ve slept, Oz?” Kate asked from the passenger’s side. “Because I know it’s been at least three days.”

“It’s only three days.” Oz said without taking his eyes off the road.

“Three days where we’ve crossed the country going at about 70 miles per hour. Oz you haven’t stopped driving,” she said sternly, “I can do it for a while. You need a break.”

“Three days of a full moon,” Oz ground out. “If I sleep, I might lose control.”

“Oh,” muttered Kate. “That would be bad.”

“We'll be there by tomorrow.”

Kate grinned and leaned back. “As long as nothing bad happens.”

That was the precise time their car was rammed off the road.


“Where are we going?” Jesse asked, rubbing a growing bruise on his shoulders and looking at the Las Angeles scenery with slightly glassy eyes.

“There’s a place a couple of blocks in,” Ms. Calendar said. “A hotel. The Hyperion. It’s abandoned.”

Jesse had never really been out of Sunnydale in his life, but something about that statement didn’t quite ring true. “Abandoned. In downtown LA? Why don’t they knock it down or fix it up?”

“Because it’s haunted. Or possibly the home of a very hostile demon..”

“And we’re going to stay there why?”

Ms. Calendar eased the truck into a parking place and put it in park. “Because I don’t know about you but I’m not looking to spend a night in a dead vampire’s truck. And also, we have no money.” She got out of the car and Jesse reluctantly followed.

“So we go into a haunted hotel? If this was a horror movie. We’d be dead already.” Jesse, stumbled, still shaky from his encounter with the vampire. “Matter of fact, right about now, me and Xander would be screaming that we were too stupid to live.”

“We’ll be fine.”

Jesse glared at her. “And that’s the traditional line of the soon to be dismembered.”

“Give it a rest,” Ms. Calendar snapped, stopping at the door of the Hyperion.

Jesse arched an eyebrow at her. “Well…”

“You really are an irritating guy aren’t you.”

“One of a kind.”

Ms. Calendar shook her head and pushed open the door, entering the old hotel, Jesse only a step behind. “Not bad for a haunted place,” Jesse commented. “Actually pretty nice. Cobweb free and everything.”

Voices from another room suddenly floated to them and Jesse paled. “And now we should be leaving. You said this place was abandoned.”

A man appeared from the door that apparently lead into the offices, looking almost as uncomfortable as Jesse felt. “Princess. We’ve got company.”

“Great. Fred, Gunn, about time you two got back. Something really weird is going on.” Cordelia Chase entered the room, stopping next to Doyle with an expression of open-mouthed shock. “And I’m thinking it just got weirder.”


The van skidded, spinning twice before flipping off the road and ramming into a tree stopping it’s momentum. Beside him, Kate’s body jerked forwards like it weighted no more than a rag doll. The seatbelt stopped her from hitting the windshield, but only just. Oz slammed into the steering wheel, cursing the fact that there was no air bag to assist in slowing his momentum and darkness swallowed him.

“It’s started.”

Unspeakable evil was coming. It was everywhere. And it scared him.

He turned around, senses on edge. But there was noting, but darkness.

“Oz.” The voice was familiar. “Daniel Osborne. The newest seer for the powers that be. And you know what that means?” He could hear it sneer. “Absolutely nothing. You’ll fail. All of the other ones did. And that red-headed girl will be the first to go.”

“Willow.” He muttered fervently.

“OZ!” A voice screamed.

“WILLOW!” He couldn’t see her, couldn’t find her He looked in all directions before his eyes finally rested on a different figure. “Tara?”

She smiled. “Oz.”

She’d done nothing to him, she was just there, smelling like Willow, but he could feel his bones crunching, the familiarity of the change. Everything hurt.

“Oz!” It wasn’t Tara’s voice, but it held the same fear Tara’s had when he’d started to change on her.

He woke to the sight of his hands lengthening.

“I swear to God, I’m not afraid to blow your brains out,” Kate’s voice was shaking and she had a gun trained on him.

“Kate?” He clenched his teeth, but the gun wasn’t helping calm him. Visions of Tara hung in his consciousness, just vivid enough so that he was sure that they had been planted. The realization was enough to stop the change. He felt his features shift back to normal. “Are you alright?”

“Been a hell of a lot better,” relief tinged her voice and Oz was suddenly aware of the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. She hadn’t lowered the gun. “You?”

“I think my arm’s broken,” Oz muttered, testing it out. “Feels like being shot.”

“Like you’d know what that was like,” Kate muttered, finally bringing the gun down and moving to unbuckle her seatbelt. “We’re lucky not to be dead.”

“Yeah.” Oz pulled off his seatbelt, trying to assess the damage to his car. Frowning at the fact that it was totaled. “We better get moving.”

Kate reached for the door when a loud crack made her freeze. Something flashed in the side mirror. “Something’s here.”

“Remember that thing you said was following me?” Oz asked calmly.

The van rocked as something ran into it again. “Oh God,” Kate muttered.

“I’ve got a couple swords in the back.”

“We’ve got a young man here, mid twenties, he looks like he’s taken a severe beating. Someone put out the information. We can’t let someone like that walk.”
“Where’d they find him?”

“Right outside. They must have just dumped him here.”

Spike walked through the wall and into Wolfram and Hart’s medical wing. It was the only place he was sure that he wouldn’t run into Angel or his groupies. And something about all the blood in the hospital, made him a bit nostalgic. And that made him guilty and guilt put him into a potentially broody state, and no way was he going to be like Peaches. But there was nothing else for a ghost to do.

“I think he’s got a collapsed lung, we need to get some oxygen to this guy pronto.”

Spike gave a disinterested glance at the patient and muttered, “Poor sod looks like someone went after him with a sledgehammer.”

Something about the magnitude of his injuries made him turn back. He looked at the man, caught sight of shaggy brown hair, a long face and half closed brown eyes. “Bloody hell. That’s Ben.”

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