Sandra Pascoe - Who Needs to Dream? 12

Title: Who Needs to Dream? (12/13)
Author: Sandra Pascoe
Disclaimer: Giles doesn't belong to me - I'm only borrowing him. Can I keep him, please?

< >indicates thoughts

Giles sucked in a breath - or tried to - until he realised that he was travelling, disembodied, through what seemed to be a colourful wilderness. He could feel Vulcan's Bane wrapped around him, shielding and protecting him as it searched restlessly, following the call of blood to wherever it would take them. They were speeding now - faster and faster - colours, lights and darkness whipping past them.

<It's like holding onto the tail of a comet,> thought Giles as a flash of amusement pulsed through him.

<That's as maybe,> thought Giles, <but I thought voids were, well, what their name implies: nothing.>

<I'm glad you're so confident,> thought Giles, feeling them start to slow down. <You've found him?>

<Yes. We are nearly there. Remember what I told you - you must follow your heart.>

Giles suddenly found himself pushed forward, thrust out of his protective bubble. He was falling; dropping like a stone, severed, feeling like a part of himself had been ripped out. He screamed soundlessly until, with a jolt, he could suddenly feel ground underneath him. He lay for a while, panting, eyes firmly closed. <God, there's a trip I don't want to repeat in a hurry - wait a minute - eyes? I can breathe - I can feel the ground beneath me.> He tentatively tried opening his eyes and then scrambled to his feet, looking down.

"Eyes, Feet - I have feet again - thank god for that." He paused and then smiled slightly. "So, this is a representation of me - never mind, at least I have what passes for a body again - even if I am still dressed for a funeral. Good job I took the jacket and tie off earlier."

Giles looked around, noting the swirling colours, the changing landscape - and what appeared to be a tear or rip in the shimmering air. <My way out,> he thought and then frowned. <Oh God - I'm alone - I can't feel you,> he felt the panic start to rise and then, suddenly, he felt it - the softest of touches, the lightest of thoughts. It was tenuous, barely there and Giles latched onto it, cradling and protecting the contact as best he could. <Stay with me,> he thought, <don't leave me.> There was no reply - not that he really expected one and he sighed, tearing his eyes away from the almost beckoning rift before him.

"Okay, William - where are you?"

***********

Sceleratus reared up, his head held high as he sniffed the air. <How can he be here already? Why did I not sense him as I did the other human? What trickery is this? No matter. He is here now - I can feel him - the fear, the determination, the familiar stench of humanity. Wait - something is not right. He is protecting something - guarding it from harm. It is within him - merged - linked with him. Fascinating - but unimportant.> Sceleratus flexed his claws and stood tall. <The important thing is that he dies. His death will buy my freedom - that is the only thing that matters.>

**********

The Hooded Man sighed with relief and slumped against the table. <You're there - at last. Finally, after all this time, I have you where I want you. I meant what I said, you know, there IS no escape - not this time. Whatever happens I win. Either you will kill Sceleratus or he will kill you. Simple enough, right? Well not really - because there's something you don't know, Rupert. Something that only Sceleratus and my predecessor know. You knew it was a trap - of course it was - but it was much more subtle than you thought. I can't wait to see your face, Rupert, if you DO manage to kill Sceleratus. I'll have to be quick though, because once Sceleratus dies, the entire realm, including you, old friend, will be destroyed along with him. His lifeforce powers the realm - he is the reason for its existence. I wonder what will happen? Will your mind implode leaving Quentin and Henry staring at a corpse? Or will it simply be nullified? Either way it should be quite a spectacle - and something I have no intention of missing.> The Hooded Man moved to the centre of the room and sat cross-legged in the middle of the circle. <My last spell - each one drains me so much now - this one will be my last. It is too dangerous to travel - I could end up like you, Rupert. I might have to miss the actual moment of your death - but I will see your final few seconds of life - looking out through the eyes of the one who will kill you. Trust me - this is going to hurt me almost as much as it will you.>

**********

"Do you think he's there yet?" Henry whispered, tearing his eyes from Giles ' motionless form and glancing at Quentin.

"There's no way of knowing," Quentin kept his voice low and then frowned. "What on earth are we whispering for? It's not like Rupert can hear us."

"You never know - and besides, it seems appropriate," Henry paused and looked down at Giles once more. "He looks asleep, doesn't he?"

"Let's just hope he wakes up again."

"And if he doesn't? What happens then?"

"We find a way of getting Vulcan's Bane back - and try and discover who's behind all this. For the Council's sake as much as Rupert's."

"So tell me, this 'Council' must do other things besides supporting this Slayer person?"

"We do all manner of things, Henry."

Henry smiled. "Translated that means 'you're not a fully paid up member of the Tufty Club so I'm not telling you'. Has anyone ever told you that you can be rather tiresome?"

"Constantly," replied Quentin, staring down at Giles.

Henry sat back, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"You have the look of someone who has flown too close to the sun and been rather burnt, Mr Travers."

"Maybe I have, Henry, maybe I have."

**********

Giles walked steadily in one direction, deliberately keeping the rift directly behind him. He muttered under his breath, cursing the vagaries of the unpredictable landscape which, rather inconveniently, tended to change at the most inappropriate moments. The current grass-covered surface was firm and yet, somehow, spongy. <Easy to walk on,> he thought as he continually looked around, <and why shouldn't grass be blue?> Raising his hand, he trailed his fingers through the colours that twisted all around him, creating bright, glowing lines in the air. He smiled.the smile slipping as he suddenly found himself knee-deep in sand as the grass-covered surface was replaced by what seemed to be a large sandbank.

"Oh, bloody great."

Giles staggered on, sweating and panting, climbing the bank and sliding down the other side. <This feels SO odd - not having you here with me. I know I can just about feel you but that small contact isn't enough. I miss you - and I'm starting to realise just how alone I was before. We're part of each other now, we belong together - it feels right. I'm aware of the changes within myself - small ones admittedly - and I think you're changing as well. The question I have, though, is - why did I pick this direction? Instinct,> he thought, <I merely felt that this was the right way to go. Let's call this a test - if I'm right and I do find Sceleratus, then I'll agree that you've had an effect and my instincts are sharper. If I'm wrong,> Giles stood up and brushed himself off, staring at the demon who watched him impassively. <I'm not wrong.>

**********

"I think we have our answer," said Quentin, staring down at Giles.

"Hmm?" Henry leaned forward. "Dear lord - he's sweating like a pig."

"Breathing has increased as well," Quentin frowned and stood up, walking to the adjoining bathroom.

"Come on, Rupert," muttered Henry, "you can do this. I know you're alone but - why am I talking to you? I'm not even sure you can hear me."

"Personally, I don't think he can," Quentin emerged from the bathroom, carrying a flannel and a small bowl of water. "I think that comment about no distractions and bathing his wounds was only to keep us occupied."

Henry looked at Quentin and smiled. "But you're not 100% certain, are you? Hence the Florence Nightingale routine."

"No," replied Quentin, sitting down and putting the water on a side table, "I'm not sure - but if what we do here can make even the slightest difference."

"I agree. Our actions might help - our inaction definitely will not."

Quentin dipped the flannel in the water and then gently wiped the sweat from Giles' face.

"If Rupert could see me now, he wouldn't believe his own eyes." Quentin glanced up at Henry. "We've had what you might call a tempestuous relationship."

"Well I know how stubborn Rupert can be," smiled Henry, "and from what I've seen, you're not exactly a walkover, Mr Travers. Hardly surprising the two of you lock horns from time to time."

"Please - call me Quentin."

"Very well - Quentin."