Title: Strange Awakenings, part 4/6
Author: Neena (varscona_pal@yahoo.ca)
Pairing: Giles/John Strange (friendship, mostly, but a slashy one:)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: BtVS characters belong to Joss Whedon (almighty creator!!!), Kuzui, Sandollar, WB, Fox, ME, Etc. ad nauseum. “Strange” characters belong to the BBC, and Big Bear Productions, etc.
Summary: Sunnydale receives two new visitors—a weary, defrocked priest and the demon he rode in on.
A/N: Set in season 5 of Buffy (before Joyce’s death), and before the episode ‘Asmoth’ in “Strange”. I’ve taken one or two liberties with Asmoth, tweaking him to fit the bill, so I apologise to the purists :)
As Xander returned from his mission to procure donuts for the studious masses, John pulled Giles aside so he could talk to him in private. Giles eyed the donuts, which were rapidly disappearing, and hoped they’d save at least a couple for him and John.
“Rupert…there’s something else I think I should tell you. I would have mentioned it earlier, only I thought you might think I was, you know, a bit loony.”
“What? More loony than riding the back of an ancient demon across different dimensions?” asked Giles playfully.
“Oh yeah—way more loony,” said John. “What would you say if I told you that I didn’t just travel through different dimensions, but that I also travelled back in time?”
“I’d say that although such occurrences are rare, they’re hardly unprecedented,” Giles said. “There are an infinite number of dimensions, John. It’s very likely that you’re not in the same one you started from. It could be that the only difference between our two dimensions is the rate at which time travels.”
“Then you believe me?”
“It actually explains a lot about our first conversation in The Magic Box. You kept asking what year it was—I thought it was the trauma talking, but I should have realized there was more to it than that.”
“It’s like he’s toying with me,” said John darkly. “Like he left me here on purpose, taking me back almost far enough to save Helen, but not quite. And he chose Sunnydale of all places. I think he knew you were here and that you’d find me. I think he knows you’re the only other person I’ve ever…” John stammered to a stop and looked over his shoulder at the group of kids gathered in the living room behind them. Anya waved at him. “He knows you’re special to me,” he corrected quietly, “and he wants to take you away from me like he did with Helen.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Giles assured him, steering clear of the awkward confession John had accidentally let slip.
“I know you said Buffy was strong, but you haven’t seen Asmoth. I don’t think anyone’s strong enough to kill him,” said John.
“Asmoth?” asked Anya from the other end of the room.
“She heard that?” John asked, flushing at the realization that she must also have heard the rest of their conversation.
“So it would seem,” Giles replied with equal embarrassment.
Anya walked boldly up to them and Willow, Xander, Tara and Buffy followed, all of them eager to find any excuse to start doing actual research. Dawn had already lost interest in their new guest, and was happily flipping through texts that Buffy would normally have kept away from her.
“It’s Astaroth you’re looking for?” Anya asked; her brow furrowed.
“Yes, Astaroth,” Giles said hopefully. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Know him—can’t stand him. He’s the most depressing being I’ve ever met. Once I went to a party he was at and I swear a third of the guests killed themselves from the sheer misery of being in his presence.”
“As interesting as that may be, we want to kill him, not invite him round for tea,” said Giles.
“You can’t kill Astaroth,” Anya stated flatly.
“I thought you said you couldn’t stand him,” Buffy piped up.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against him being dead,” said Anya. “I only meant that he can’t be killed. It’s pretty much impossible. The only time he’s vulnerable is when his power source is dead. And that means you’d have to find whoever it is first—which is no easy task, seeing as Astartoth could have chosen anyone from any dimension to supply his power. So long as his power source lives, he’s completely impossible to kill. It made for some nauseatingly boring conversations, I can tell you. It was always ‘I’m impervious’ this, and ‘I’m indestructible’ that.”
“Okay. So we find the power source and kill it. Is there any way you can narrow down the list from ‘anyone in any dimension’?” asked Buffy.
“I don’t know if it helps any, but he once bragged that he preferred to tap religious people, and then only the ones who were truly happy. He said their life force was purer, and their suffering more intense. Which, I guess, is a good thing if you’re into soul-sucking.”
“And how does Asmoth go about ‘tapping’ his power supply?” asked John, fearing he already knew the answer.
“The power source is a victim he’s wounded but kept alive—whenever he needs a fix he opens the wounds he inflicted and the power flows. And the more miserable the victim, the more potent the power.”
John and Giles exchanged anxious glances.
“Well, on the plus side, we don’t have to go far to find his power source,” said John. He hiked up his borrowed t-shirt to show the young group the bandages on his back. “Courtesy of Asmoth,” he explained soberly. There was a moment of silence as the meaning of his announcement sank in.
“Hang on,” said Xander, his face a mask of confusion. “Does that mean you’re like a priest or something?”
“Way to cling to the relevant point, Xan,” said Buffy sarcastically.
“Anya, are you absolutely certain?” asked Giles. “Is there any possibility your information could be wrong?”
“Sorry,” she said, looking genuinely apologetic, “I looked into it several centuries ago when Asmoth was really starting to piss me off. Thought I’d do the universe a favour and get rid of him. Not so easy, as it turned out.”
“What do you mean, ‘several centuries ago’?” asked John. “And for that matter, what do you mean you were at parties with him?”
“Anya used to be a vengeance demon,” Xander answered.
“A demon? I thought you said she was your girlfriend,” said John.
“Don’t worry, I’ve been human for over a year now—I haven’t cursed anyone in ages,” Anya said proudly.
“Anya’s been a valuable resource,” said Giles.
“And a productive member of society,” Anya prompted.
“…And a productive member of society,” Giles agreed. “She’s not a threat, I promise you.”
“And Dawn?” John asked, nodding at the green-glowing girl flipping through books on the couch.
“What about her?” asked Buffy defensively, rearing up like a cobra about to strike.
John knew when to back down. “Nothing. Sweet girl,” he said. “I just thought, with a sister who’s a slayer…she might be, erm, different.”
“She’s just a normal, ordinary kid,” said Buffy as if daring him to argue.
John peeked over his shoulder at the glowing girl in question and answered, “of course—I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“We still have a serious problem,” Giles said, diverting the conversation back to the important issue. “We need to find some other way to kill Asmoth; one that doesn’t involve killing John as well.”
“Maybe we could make Asmoth think he’s dead…fool him somehow,” Willow suggested.
“Fool him?” asked Xander. “What? You think if John lies really still for a while this ancient, multi-dimensional, soul-sucking demon will shrug its shoulders and move on?”
“There are spells,” Tara added softly, “that can mask a person’s life signs. W-we could create a shield around him.”
“That won’t work,” said Anya, dashing their first fragile hope to the ground and stomping on it. “You may fool Asmoth into thinking he’s dead, but unless John actually dies, Asmoth will remain invulnerable to attack.”
The room fell silent as they collectively wracked their brains for another alternative.
“What about that voodoo thing?” asked Xander. “You know—the thing where a guy gets shot with a poison dart and everyone thinks he’s dead. Then they bury him, only he’s not a hundred per cent dead and he wakes up two days later in his own coffin, buried under six feet of dirt, and…dear God, I just gave myself the willies.”
“It’s true, there are poisons which, when administered properly, can mimic the physical aspects of death,” said Giles. “But as you said yourself, he wouldn’t really be dead, and I’m fairly sure Asmoth would know the difference.”
“Oh! Oh!” Willow exclaimed with a little bounce, and Giles thought she’d only just managed to stop herself from jutting her hand up in the air like an eager student. “I know! We could do what they did in ‘Flatliners’. We kill him, under careful supervision, of course, then we bring him back with heating pads and those jolty things…and a bunch of other stuff we don’t have access to…and with the help of a bunch of genius medical students we’d have to kidnap. Okay—I’m seeing that I didn’t think that one through so much.”
“But hey! If one Kiefer movie doesn’t work we could try another one. We could always pull a ‘Lost Boys’,” Buffy said.
“Actually, that would work,” said Anya. “If we could somehow get Spike or Angel to turn him he would, essentially, be dead. Then we could take out Asmoth easy-peasey.”
“And we could do with John what we did with Angel,” Willow added. “Keep his soul all safe and locked up until this Asmoth creep is dead, then restore it.”
“He’d still be a vampire, though,” Xander argued. “Sure, he’d get to be all immortal and eternally young and have super powers…and the girls really seem to dig the whole dark broodiness thing…and… Hey! Can I be a vampire?”
“Xander, you’re not helping,” said Giles. “We are not going to turn John. It’s—it’s…obscene.”
“It might be our only option,” said Anya. Once again there was a lengthy silence as they all struggled to come up with a better idea.
John was not encouraged by the continued silence. It was becoming clear that the only way to kill Asmoth was to become the one thing he hated most—a demon. “Would I still be me?” he asked Giles at last. “If I became a vampire, would I keep my memories, my personality?”
“They’d be incorporated into the demon that would take over your body, yes,” Giles acceded. “And once we’d restored your soul, you’d have far greater control over your demon side…but you would still be fighting it constantly. For as long as you live, you’d be fighting for control, and the demon’s will is strong—it would crave human blood.”
“But it could be done? It has been done before?” asked John.
“Yes, but I will not have you condemned to an eternity of spiritual torment,” said Giles.
“It’s not your decision to make,” said John hotly. “Asmoth has to be stopped, and I’m willing to do anything to stop him.”
“What if there’s another way?” Tara timidly spoke up.
“We’re all ears,” said Buffy. “But not in a literal, freaky kind of way, of course.”
“What if, instead of a vampire, we got a different kind of demon to inhabit John’s body? Willow told me about Eyghon…how Giles and his friends raised a demon that took possession of them while they were unconscious. Would something like that work?”
Giles felt the blood rush from his head, leaving him feeling slightly off-balance. She obviously had no clue what she was suggesting. She couldn’t possibly realize she’d just requested him to relive the worst experience of his life.
“Only one problem,” said Buffy, and at that moment, Giles could have kissed her. “Eyghon is dead—saw to it myself.”
“That’s not a problem,” said Anya. “There’s plenty more where he came from.” Giles glared at her, but he knew she was right. He and Ethan had chosen Eyghon from a veritable yellow pages of possession demons. He remembered the final decision hinged on which demon called for the coolest tattoo.
“It’s a great idea!” exclaimed Willow. “We knock out John, the demon takes possession, and Buffy kills Asmoth, and then when John comes to, no more demon.”
“Yeah, but dial-a-demon won’t stay gone forever, will he?” asked Xander. “He’ll turn up again when you least expect him and wreak havoc. And I don’t know about you guys, but my havoc’s been wreaked enough for one lifetime.”
“So…okay, we get Spike to help us out,” said Buffy. “Once Asmoth’s gone I’ll put a chokehold on John. Don’t worry,” she added when John’s eyes widened fearfully, “we’ve done this before; I won’t do any damage, I promise. But the demon will think its host is dying and it will jump to another dead or unconscious host. That’s where Spike comes in.”
“Spike?” asked John.
“A vampire friend…or whatever…of ours,” she explained.
“It sounds crazy,” said John. “But it’s the best plan we’re likely to get. Count me in,” said John eagerly.
Giles couldn’t handle it any more. John still seemed so innocent…so vulnerable. He had no idea what he was in for. And the rest of them were acting so flippant about the whole thing it made him want to run screaming from the room. He didn’t scream, but he did run from the room, bolting up the stairs to his loft with no word of explanation to anyone. Sadly, with no door to slam behind him, all he could do was throw himself onto his bed and pretend he couldn’t still hear what everyone downstairs was saying.
“What was all that about?” he heard John ask.
It was Buffy who answered: “Giles gets a little wigged when it comes to Eyghon. Did he ever tell you about it?” she asked.
“No,” John’s answered.
“It was in his Ripper days,” she explained. “Giles and his buddies were getting their jollies using magick to summon this demon, Eyghon. But things got out of hand and one of his friends died. I think he still blames himself for it.”
Upstairs in his bedroom, Giles closed his eyes as Buffy’s words filtered up to him, bringing with them the still-vivid images of his friend’s tragic death. She hadn’t bothered to lower her voice, and Giles wondered if that was on purpose. They’d spoken about it on a couple of occasions, and she’d tried to convince him that although what he’d done had been stupid, it didn’t make him solely responsible for everything that happened. But then, she didn’t know the whole story, and she never would.
Downstairs, there was much shuffling about and mumbling, and eventually he heard the front door open and close. Giles knew better than to think he was alone, though. He sat up on his bed and waited, and a few minutes later when he heard footsteps on the stairs, his suspicions were confirmed.
Giles watched as John’s mane of brown, curly hair crested the loft’s landing. As he climbed the last few steps, Giles could also see that he was holding out a nearly empty box of donuts like it was some sort of sacrificial offering.
“I come bearing gifts,” said John. Despite himself, Giles smiled. “I managed to salvage one of the jellies, but it was a near thing—I had to beat Xander off with a pointy stick.”
John waited at the top of the stairs until Giles motioned for him to come in, and once he received his invitation, he deposited the offering at the foot of the bed and sat down. “So, are you going to tell me?” he asked, peering at his old friend knowingly.
“Buffy already told you,” said Giles, shifting uncomfortably on the bed.
“No. She told me the watered-down version that you told her. I’m guessing there’s a lot more to it than that.”
For a split second Giles thought how much easier his life would have been if John had never run out into traffic in front of his shop. He sighed, took off his glasses and gave them a brutal wiping.
“You’re stalling,” said John. “Let me make this a little easier… Does it have anything to do with Randall?”
Giles’ eyes snapped up to meet John’s. “Did Buffy tell you about him?”
“No, you did yourself, one night back in college when you got seriously inebriated. I’d never seen you so drunk before—you had me scared. When I tried to get you to stop drinking you said it was five years to the day, and you were drinking to forget. And when I asked you what you were trying to forget, all you said was ‘Randall’.”
“All these years later, and you still remember something I said on one of my benders?” asked Giles in disbelief.
“Like I said, you had me really scared. It looked to me like you were trying to drink yourself into an early grave. Whatever business you had with this ‘Randall’, I knew it was bad enough to make you want to drown yourself in a bottle. The name stuck; I always wondered why you’d never mentioned him before of after. So when Buffy said that one of your friends was killed, I put two and two together.”
Giles lay his glasses down on the bedside table before his overzealous ministrations led to their inevitable destruction. For a while he just stared down at his empty hands as if they might give him some clue how to tell John something he’d never admitted to anyone else.
“I lied,” he started. “When I told you I didn’t remember the night we…went our separate ways—I lied. Of course I remembered that night. Did you think you meant nothing to me?”
“That was the impression I got at the time, yes,” John admitted.
“Well you were wrong. You meant a great deal to me—more than anyone I’d ever known. But you were drawn to my darkness; attracted to the power and the danger I’d been through. It was my own fault—I bragged about my dealings with dark magicks, flattered by the attention it got me. Especially from you, John. You reminded me so much of him, you see.”
“Randall, you mean?” asked John.
Giles nodded, wishing he had a stiff drink to help him along. “I was well into witchcraft when I first met him. He was a sprite of a boy, dropped out of school and living on the streets. He took a shine to me, started tagging along everywhere I went until I eventually had to take him in. At first it was just the two of us—the rest of the world didn’t exist as far as we were concerned. After a while, though, I began to get restless, missing the magicks. He wouldn’t have anything to do with my friends, though; he said all that magick stuff made him twitchy. But I kept pushing him, and he trusted me enough that I eventually won him over.
“I was the one who tattooed the mark of Eyghon on his forearm. I was the one who held his hand and promised him it would be all right. But I was wrong. Randall wasn’t strong enough to dislodge the demon. It consumed him—devoured his soul—and Eyghon, unfettered, rampaged through London, using Randall’s body to obliterate everything in its path. The only way to stop it was to destroy the vessel he’d taken over.
“None of the others would do it. Ethan, Deirdre…they all would have been quite happy to let Eyghon loose on the world. So in the end, I was the one who had to do it. I had to watch Randall’s face contort with pain as I ran a sword through his body, dispelling the demon inside him.”
John had no idea what to say. How did one console a man whose grief was so old and deep-seated as this? A grief that was riddled through with guilt, not only over Randall’s death, but also for the untimely end of his relationship with John—one that had held so much promise. If only I hadn’t begged him to teach me magicks, thought John. If only Rupert had told me then what he’d told me now. If things had only been different… But it was pointless dwelling on the past. What mattered was to make the best of what they had now.
John reached over and took Giles’ hand in his, gently stroking his thumb over the soft webbing between the other man’s thumb and forefinger. It was a small gesture, perhaps, but it spoke volumes:
Yes, I forgive you.
No, I don’t think any less of you.
Yes, after all these years I still feel something for you.
Giles cleared his throat before lifting his emerald eyes to meet John’s. “Thank-you,” was all he said, but in those two words, he, too, had expressed so much more.