Title: Acid Trip
Author: Yahtzee

(notes and disclaimer in part one)

"This can't be real," Xander said.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Willow. She was not looking at him, but down at Buffy's dead body. "I feel that way too," Willow said softly.

"That's not what I mean --"

And he was in an alleyway. Two bad things were at work here: it was really dark and, from the sound behind him, Xander was pretty sure he wasn't alone.

"Xander? What are you doing here?"

He froze for a moment, then turned around to see Buffy -- alive, well and vaguely pissed off at him, which was troublesome but really nothing compared to the alive and well part. "Oh, man, am I glad to see you."

Giles and Willow came jogging around the corner. "You found him," Willow said.

"At the last possible second," Buffy muttered. "We've been looking all over for you, Xander. There's some serious stuff going down tonight. Did your Uncle Rory give you the messages?"

"That would be a no."

"I'm not really sure he understood them all that well," Willow said helpfully. "Goldschlager again?"

"Schnapps, I think. What's the deal?"

"The Son of Verruth is awakening tonight," Giles said. "He awakens once every three hundred years and inevitably brings forth a tide of destruction and chaos."

"The usual, then," Xander said, taking a deep breath. He felt dizzy, out of breath -- the one dim light at the end of the alleyway was strangely haloed in a shimmery rainbow --

"Wait a minute. If you weren't out looking for us, what are you doing here?" Willow said, wrinkling her nose. "This is really not such a great part of town, Xander."

"Given that we have vampires and demons and Sons of Vermouth in even the very finest neighborhoods of Sunnydale, I don't think a mugging is our biggest worry."

"Son of Verruth," Giles corrected. "And we can help you with supernatural problems. Purely mortal hooligans are generally beyond our ken."

"I think I could kick a purely mortal hooligan's ass," Buffy said. "But Xander's avoiding the question."

"Anya and I broke up; I don't want to talk about it; I decided to go out someplace with no memories attached to it, which this place definitely is; this guy gave me some acid; I did NOT know it was acid but I've taken it all the same; I am seeing some seriously weird things," Xander said. "I'm hoping you guys are real. If not, don't tell me."

"Way to go, Xander," Buffy sighed. "This thing is going to be hard to kill, and I need all the help I can get."

"Not much help with the big, nasty Son of Verruth? Darn, I guess I'll have to go home."

"You're in no condition to be roaming the streets by yourself," Giles said. "Just stay close to us."

"And try not to get in the way," Buffy added.

"The warmth of your welcome moves me," Xander said. But he was so relieved to be near Buffy, to know the image of her funeral was only a dream, that the scolding didn't bother him overmuch. Maybe he sort of deserved it --

And he was in Buffy's house. It was daytime again; he sat on the sofa with Willow, who was sitting on the cushion farthest from him. They were both looking up at Mrs. Summers, who looked like hell.

Her hair was pulled back severely, her face was devoid of makeup, and her expression was flat and blank. She was holding a pair of black shoes.

"She didn't need these," Mrs. Summers said. "They thanked me so nicely for the dress and the headband, but then they told me she didn't need shoes. They don't put shoes on the people they bury; did you know that?"

"No," Willow whispered. "No, I didn't."

"I wish they hadn't told me," Mrs. Summers said. "Why couldn't they just take the shoes? It was hard enough -- picking out something for her to --" She clapped a hand to her mouth for a moment, then let it drop, as if even that strength had been robbed from her. "But riding home with just her shoes there on the seat --"

She started sobbing then, and the sight of her anguish was almost too much to bear. Not for Willow; she got up quickly to take Buffy's mother in her arms. But Xander couldn't find it in himself to comfort her.

It was only now occurring to him that at some point during his two-day trip, Buffy had actually died. He was living this out of sequence, sure -- but it was real. All of it --

And it was sunrise at Giles' house. Why wasn't he asleep? Xander felt more tired and confused than he'd ever been; when was this? He was wearing the same clothing he'd worn to the club; the spiral was still clearly inked on his arm. The morning after he'd taken the drugs, then?

Giles stood next to him, pale with his own exhaustion. "I should go," Giles said. His voice was so rough and scratchy it was almost unrecognizable.

"Go where?" Xander said.

Giles looked at him strangely. "To Los Angeles. To speak to Angel. I don't suppose I'm the proper person to -- to tell him Buffy's gone." He swallowed; saying those words had cost him. "But it's got to be done. And better done face to face, don't you think?"

"I guess," Xander said, the words sounding hollow even to him.

"Stay with Willow," Giles said as he squeezed Xander's shoulder. "She needs you now. You need each other."

"I'll do that," Xander promised. "But Giles -- before you go --"

"Yes?"

"The drugs I took -- they're still affecting me. And the way they're affecting me -- Giles, I'm experiencing events out of sequence. Like, I think I've seen Buffy's funeral. And I saw her alive after I saw that."

Giles sighed. "Xander -- based on my not-inconsiderable experience with hallucinogens, I can tell you that they don't work in that manner. You might have disorientation, to be sure, even some loss of continuity; still, there's no means by which you could have seen an event that has yet to take place."

"But Giles, if I did go back again, back before Buffy died, maybe I could stop it --"

"Xander," Giles said, his voice gentle. "Even if we accept your account of events, we know that you have been to Buffy's funeral. Anything you have witnessed would have to come to pass. Do you see?"

"You mean, there's nothing I can do?" Xander said, feeling his throat tighten. "Nothing any of us can do? She's really gone?"

"She really is," Giles answered. "I've had to say that too many times already; how am I going to say it again?"

Xander shook his head, grief and guilt washing over him --

And he was making love to Willow.

He gasped with shock and paused, trying to gather his thoughts. It was astonishing and, yet, not so strange; hadn't he fantasized about this often enough? Being with her felt natural, in a way. As though they'd been lovers for years.

Willow looked up at him, her eyes puzzled. "You okay?" she whispered.

"Better than okay." Xander kissed her deeply and tasted the soft salt of tears on her skin. He knew how this had happened, now; their loss had driven them together, pushed them past their reluctance and confusion. Was this what he had really wanted, all this time? He didn't know and didn't care. For the first time in all this madness, he felt centered, collected, whole. He didn't have to think about anything, or say anything, or do anything other than what he felt --

And he was in a park. It was still nighttime -- a different night? Yes, he decided, the first night; he was wearing his clubbing clothes.

Giles were pacing around the edges of a circle, inside which an elaborate pattern had been created out of white powder. Spike leaned against a nearby tree, smoking a cigarette. "So, that's what you're after, then?"

"Right," Giles said. "Where's my spell book?"

"Where's my spell book? That's the thanks I get for risking my hide being out here in commando-boy land while you lot are off stealing jewelry?" Spike shoved a heavy, leather-bound tome into Giles' arms with a little more strength than was necessary, then winced slightly.

"Thank you, Spike," Willow said, rolling her eyes skyward. "It's perfect."

"More like it."

"What's going on?" Xander said.

"Xander, I know you are disoriented and confused, and you will just have to trust me when I tell you the best thing for you to do is shut up," Giles said.

"And stay out of the way," Willow said as she shook out a small brown sack; something gold and green tumbled into the center of the circle. "That's two best things."

"You'll be wanting a third, you know," Spike said, almost nonchalantly.

Willow glanced back at him. "Another best thing? Oh -- oh! You're familiar with this spell?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm an expert, seeing as how this thing rolls around every third century," Spike said. "The point is, I've cast spells before, and I think I'll do you better for focused energy than high-as-a-bleedin'-kite over there."

"Your lethality has been replaced by a certain pragmatism, Spike," Giles said. "Quickly, now, both of you. Buffy doesn't have much time."

"Buffy's still alive," Xander whispered. The others did not hear him or paid him no heed; they were all sitting at the edges of the circle, their hands facing outward as though they were pushing against something unseen, which possibly they were. Giles' spell book was in his lap, and he looked down frequently as he read off the words of an incantation. Xander was no expert, not with his high-school Spanish, but he didn't think this was Latin or Romani or any of the usual weird-magic languages. It sounded -- older. Scarier.

As he continued his chant, an eerie orange light began pulsing in the center of the circle; it illuminated the leaves above their heads, creating a strange, shifting canopy. The thing Willow had shaken from her bag -- Xander could see now that it was some kind of amulet or medallion with a green jewel in the middle -- began to rise from the floor. It spun in place, rising higher and higher, suspended in the light that pulsed with every syllable Giles spoke.

Was it the language, or was Giles' voice shaking? Willow was used to spells and stuff, and even she looked a little freaked out, Xander thought. And Spike's face -- well, he looked less bored than usual, anyway.

The medallion spun faster and faster, making a strange whirring sound as it did so, until suddenly it exploded. Xander flinched as Willow screamed; he heard shards of metal thudding into the trees and earth around them. The orange light vanished as quickly as if someone had flipped a switch.

"Damn," Spike swore, looking at a nasty-looking bit of shrapnel in his arm. "Should've let Xander take this shift."

"This means the Son of Verruth is dead, right?" Willow said. She was still a little shaky; Xander thought she was out of it until Spike moved to pull the metal from his flesh. "Spike, don't! It'll burn you!"

"It's not exactly comfy now, love."

"It's all right, Willow," Giles said. "The Son of Verruth dies with his medallion. And the metal has no special properties now. We can touch it without harm."

"Okay, quick update for the trippy guy in the corner," Xander said. "Destroying this medallion means destroying the Son of Verruth." When Giles nodded, Xander continued, "So Buffy is out of danger."

"Assuming she was able to trap him as we planned," Giles said, frowning slightly. "But that should be fairly easy work for our Slayer. I imagine she'll be back with us in a few minutes."

Xander breathed a sigh of relief --

And he was hugging someone who, when she leaned back from the embrace, turned out to be Cordelia. "Cordy?"

"I mean it, Xander. I'm really sorry," Cordelia said, her voice softer than Xander had heard in a long time. His heart sank.

They were standing in the chapel, and Xander did not have to turn to know that Buffy's dead body lay behind him in her coffin. Night had fallen, and nothing had changed. Nothing could change. He would spend the next two days watching Buffy die in bits and pieces, and the only thing for him to do was accept it.

"Cordelia, thanks for coming. I know she would have appreciated it," Xander said, although he knew no such thing.

"I blew off an audition," Cordelia said, in the voice of one who has made a noble sacrifice. "Anyway, if he was going to get to the wake on time, I had to drive."

Xander frowned for a moment, then understood. He slowly turned around.

Angel stood by Buffy's side; Xander could not see his face and was, for one sick second, grateful for that. "How is he?" Xander whispered.

"Not good," Cordelia said. "When Giles told him -- Xander, he just fell. Like he didn't have anything in him. He didn't faint, just -- I don't know. Angel pulled himself together pretty fast, but it's all on the outside. You look in his eyes and nobody's home."

"You don't mean -- grrr?" Xander whispered, making fangy gestures.

"That whole losing-the-soul thing depends on him being happy, right? I think we're safe from evil Angel for, like, ever." Cordelia sighed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Xander could see that Angel remained leaning over Buffy's casket; he did not turn away or even look up, but remained fixed on her pale, still face. He wasn't crying, wasn't speaking -- just frozen there, hunched over slightly as if in pain.

And then Xander realized that Angel had no choice. At the front of the chapel was an enormous cross; being so close to one so large had to be painful for the vampire. But he would not let it keep him from her. "He ought to step outside. Get away from that thing for a minute," Xander said.

"God, Xander, I know a dead body's just a body but, a thing? That's way cold."

"Cordelia, I'm talking about the cross, okay?"

"Oh. Yeah, make him get some fresh air. Angel could probably use it, after an afternoon in the trunk."

"Me? Why me? Angel and I are not the closest."

"Well, Giles is trying to take care of Mrs. Summers, which is one big job. Willow is trying to score with this very delicious man, for which I must say I cannot blame her."

"Willow is not trying to score with Riley," Xander said, surprised at how much the mistake annoyed him.

"Whatever. I've been trying to get Angel to talk to me for a while now, and it's a no-go. That leaves you."

Xander still held in his heart many, many annoying memories of dating Cordelia; however, until this moment he had forgotten her infuriating habit of often being right. He squared his shoulders and walked up to Angel. "Hey there," Xander said.

"Hi, Xander," Angel said quietly, glancing over his shoulder with only a slight wince.

"How're you holding up?"

"Don't ask me that. Not here," Angel said.

"Then let's go outside and give you a break from the crucifix, okay?" When Angel didn't move, Xander continued, "You don't have to talk if you don't want to."

Angel looked back at him again, his eyes unfathomably dark. But after a second he nodded and quickly walked to a side door. Once outside, Angel took a deep breath; the last pale tinges of sunset marked the western sky. Xander watched Angel studying the horizon, looking after the lost light.

"I lost a friend just a few days ago," Angel said, "and I thought that would be the worst I'd feel for a long time. If there's anything these centuries should've taught me, it's that there's no end to pain."

Xander had always hated Angel's brooding, but for once, he couldn't argue with it.

"I thought I was doing the best thing for her," Angel continued. "Giving her freedom. A chance at a real life. Instead I put her through a miserable breakup while we both loved one another, only to have her die. I might have saved her the anguish."

"Angel --" Xander was at a loss. What could he say? Why wasn't Willow out here, or somebody who had could respect how Angel was feeling? Xander had never liked Angel --

And why not? He considered his reasons for few seconds before he spoke again. "Angel, leaving aside for a second the whole losing-the-soul period, I have given you a lot of grief over the years."

"I've got it coming," Angel said.

"Not for the reasons I dished it out," Xander said. "I resented you because I thought you cost me my chance with Buffy. Like she belonged to me, and you stole her. But she wasn't mine to lose or to keep."

"And she was never mine," Angel whispered. "She belonged to something else."

Xander nodded; when he spoke again, he was surprised at how rough his voice was. "The way I acted -- I've been selfish for years. I put my feelings first, not hers. But you did."

Angel turned back to face him, which made it harder to continue. But he did. "She was hurting after you guys split, yeah. But Buffy always understood that you left because you cared about her. She knew somebody loved her that much. That's something a lot of people never know. It's something you gave her that I never could have."

"Xander." Angel spoke softly as he hesitantly put a hand on Xander's shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short. There's nothing you wouldn't have done for Buffy."

"We'll never know for sure," Xander said. "There's nothing more I can do for her now --"

And he was in the club, stumbling toward the door, the drug still heavy and thick in him. Xander shook his head to clear it -- a lost cause -- and tried to get outside to get some fresh air. But an arm was blocking the doorway. Xander blinked as he looked over to see whom this arm belonged to. Goth Guy was shaking his head and grinning. "Man, you are fucked up."

"All thanks to you, my friend," Xander said. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to vomit in the relative safety and comfort of the alley."

"That's not what I mean. You're taking the trip, but you don't understand where it's leading you."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're wearing the eternal curve," Goth Guy said. "There's a lot of meaning there, if you can interpret it. A lot of opportunity."

"My universal translator is down. Make it simple for me, okay?" Xander said. He was annoyed and nauseated, and yet, for some reason, he could focus on Goth Guy. Only on Goth Guy. He was pretty sure this was important.

"You change the way things happen outside you by changing what's inside you. That's the message, man."

"You mean -- I really am moving through time," Xander said, grabbing Goth Guy's arm. "I can still save Buffy. Tell me how!"

"Just did."