Fic: The Wolf Within (5/?)

[Erin <erin@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

TITLE: The Wolf Within
AUTHOR: Erin (erin@xxxxxxxxxxx)
SPOILERS: None, really.
RATING: PG-13 at worst, because of some violence. It is a
Buffy/Willow fic, so if that bothers you, or it's illegal to even
think of a Slayer and a Witch getting it on, then just don't read it.
Or move.
DISCLAIMER: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all characters belong to Joss
Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox. I'm just borrowing them for a bit.
I'll put them back when I'm done, no worse for wear (but maybe a
little happier). Most of the werewolf stuff is copyright White Wolf,
such as Garou, Crinos, Child of Gaia, Glass Walker, etc.
ARCHIVE: Currently, none. Just ask, I'd love to say yes.
FEEDBACK: Constructive comments are encouraged.
SUMMARY: (Buffy/Willow) Willow discovers that there is more to her
than meets the eye, and it could tear her life apart.

Part the Fifth

They drove quickly through the night, the silence punctuated only by
Buffy's terse directions. When the Slayer told Chris to stop the car
in front of the shop on the right, he looked at her incredulously.

"You won't take her to a hospital, but you will take her to a magick
shop. A little Dark Ages, isn't it?"

Buffy glanced at the young man nervously. "There's someone there who
can help her." Muttering under her breath, she finished, "I hope."
The two jumped out of the car, and began the delicate process of
moving Willow from the car to the shop. During the car ride, Willow
had slipped in and out of consciousness, and when Buffy held on to her
to help carry her into the building she noticed how hot the redhead's
skin was.

The two of them carried Willow into the magick shop, which was open
despite the somewhat late hour. As the door chimed to signal their
arrival, a voice was heard from the back room: "Just a minute, I'll
be right out!"

Chris looked up sharply, as if surprised to hear the voice. Buffy
glanced at him, and in response to her quizzical look, he muttered, "I
knew we should have taken her to a hospital."

Nichole stepped out from the back room, a greeting dying on her lips
at the sight of Willow. "Quickly," she said, motioning them to the
back, "Bring her back here." She cleared off one of the long work
tables and laid a clean, but not very soft, army blanket on top of it.
She motioned for Willow to be placed there. Giving Buffy a sharp
look, she asked, "How did this happen?"

Buffy swallowed her anger, and replied, "A couple of _your_ people
attacked us. Some nasty, greasy werewolves. We managed to finish
them off, but one of them roughed up Will pretty bad."

"They're lucky I showed up when I did," Chris remarked. "Or should I
say, we're all lucky."

Nichole looked closely at Chris for the first time, and her jaw
dropped. "Kernel?" She asked, her voice taking on a disbelieving
tone.

Buffy, misunderstanding, said, "Colonel? Colonel who? Look, we don't
have time for this, can you help Willow or not?"

Nichole nodded at Buffy, and said, "Of course, I'm sorry. Could you
two wait in the front room? I'll know better what's going on in a
little while."

Chris nodded and, grabbing Buffy's elbow, steered her toward the
front. "C'mon," he said, not unkindly. "I'll answer any questions
you have while Nichole does her thing."

* * *

Buffy paced the floor, her fierce movements causing Chris to wince
slightly. "So, what's the story, Chris? Or is your name even Chris?"

Chris looked at Buffy, and sighed. "Yes, my name is Chris. Chris
Maxwell, just like I told you. I'm a werewolf too, just like Nichole
and Willow."

"Wow, you guys are just all over the place, aren't you?" Buffy
replied, sarcasm coating the words thickly.

"Not really," Chris said, sadly. "There aren't many of us left.
That's why I came to Sunnydale, to make sure Willow would be safe."

"So who were those guys, anyway?" Buffy asked. She gestured with one
injured arm, and winced as she felt the wound tear.

Chris looked down at Buffy's arms, noticing the blood-stained bandages
for the first time. "Geez!" He said, stepping forward for a closer
look. "Did they hurt you?"

Buffy looked down at her arm and shrugged. "I'm used to it, although
those suckers hurt me worse than almost anything else I've fought."
She carefully unwrapped her arms, noting the deep gashes inflicted by
the werewolf's claws. In the light of the store they seemed worse
than when she first saw them outside. Some of them appeared to almost
go to the bone.

Chris looked at the deep wounds, and paled. No human should have been
able to survive those lacerations, he thought, but Buffy looked like
it was just inconvenient. "Uh, I'll go see if Nichole has anything...
medical..." He rushed off to the back room, and emerged a few moments
later with a large bag. He pulled Buffy over to the counter, and
began rinsing out her wounds with antiseptic. He looked at her calm
face with alarm. "Geez, you didn't slip into shock or anything, did
you? How the hell are you still alive with wounds like this?"

Buffy gave a half-smile, and fished out some surgical needles and
thread with one hand. "I'm the Slayer," was all she gave in way of
explanation.

Chris remained silent as he worked. He had heard of the Slayer, a
human being supposedly gifted with great powers to enable her to fight
against the Wyrm. He knew that Willow had made a powerful ally if the
Slayer was willing to risk her life to protect her. After a few
moments, Chris said, "So, describe these werewolves that attacked
you."

"Well, they were obviously werewolves," Buffy began, trying to
remember. "They had weird green glowing eyes, though."

Chris nodded. "Black Spiral Dancers." He spat out the words, as if
to rid himself of the bad taste they placed in his mouth. "Corrupt
Garou. Werewolves who have been driven insane, and forced to serve
the Wyrm."

"What is the Wyrm?" Buffy asked, his words drawing her out, reaching
her natural curiosity. "I've heard that word a couple times now."

Chris finished rinsing the wounds, and he took the needle and thread
from Buffy. "There are three fundamental forces in the universe. The
Wyld is the fundamental force of change, of nature, of raw elemental
power. The Weaver is the fundamental force of order, of building, of
technological power. And then there's the Wyrm. The Wyrm began as
the fundamental force of destruction; whenever a forest fire swept
through a wooded area, clearing out the dead brush to leave the new
saplings room to grow, that was the Wyrm. Whenever a building grew
old, and in disrepair, and collapsed to be hauled away and remade,
that was the Wyrm." Carefully threading the needle, he began
stitching the long gashes on Buffy's arms with small, precise
movements.

Buffy frowned, wincing slightly at the stitching. "That doesn't sound
very evil."

"It isn't." Chris shook his head. "But long ago, no one is certain
exactly when, the Weaver achieved sentience. She looked at all Her
accomplishments and saw that ultimately, they were all destined for
destruction. She went mad, and wished to encompass the entire
universe in Her Pattern, to hold it static for eternity. To
accomplish this, She started to war against the Wyrm and the Wyld.
The Wyld escaped, and the Weaver could not reach Her. But the Weaver
could reach the Wyrm, and She bound Him up in her Pattern, twisting
Him into Corruption. Now the Wyrm does not seek only to destroy, but
to corrupt anything He touches."

"This is all abstract, right?" Buffy said. "I mean, there's not
really a Weaver, or a Wyrm..."

Chris smiled in response. "Just ask the Black Spirals. The Wyrm is
certainly not abstract to them." He looked at Buffy, as if judging
her abilities. "If Willow was injured, then you must've killed the
Black Spirals."

Buffy shrugged. "Yeah, I did. I took out the first one without too
much trouble; the second one was pretty weakened by his fight with
Willow. Which reminds me, how come those guys died? I figured I would
have needed a silver bullet or something to do a more permanent job."

Chris grinned. "Silver bullets do hurt us, any silver does, in fact.
But it's not the only thing that can hurt us. Decapitation works
nicely; it doesn't matter if its done with silver or not, we can't
really heal from something like that. Same with broken necks, massive
brain trauma, strangulation... We're a bit more delicate than the
myths make us out to be. We regenerate very quickly from most normal
weapons, though, and about the only things that can do us lasting
damage are silver and the teeth and claws of other werewolves. We
have a weakness to the attacks of our own kind, even corrupted Garou
like Black Spirals. That's why Willow reacted so badly to her
wounds..."

Nichole emerged from the back, wiping her hands on a towel. "Well,
you'll be glad to know that Willow will be fine. She's sleeping right
now; it took a great deal of energy for me to heal her wounds to the
point where they were no longer life-threatening." She walked behind
the counter, and examined Buffy's stitches with a critical eye. They
appeared to meet her standards so she began wrapping Buffy's arms in
fresh bandages. "So, did Chris tell you everything that you wished to
know?"

Buffy raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Everything except how you and
he know each other."

Chris and Nichole exchanged uncomfortable looks. "I met Nichole up in
Stanford a couple of years ago," Chris said. "We never got along very
well. Philosophical differences. Two different tribes, and all
that." At Buffy's questioning gaze, he continued. "Nichole is a
member of the Children of Gaia tribe of Garou. I am a member of the
Glass Walker tribe. There are thirteen tribes, and very few of them
get along. The philosophical differences are usually too great."

Buffy gave him a sardonic look. "That's inconvenient. Seeing as how
you're fighting a war and everything."

Chris blushed. "Yeah, well, no one accused us of not being stubborn,"
he muttered.

* * *

Thraxuil looked down from his raised throne to the grovelling
messenger below. His voice was deathly calm as he asked, "And the
Spirit Banes told you that our soldiers failed?"

Kraxthus nodded, his eyes never leaving the floor. "It is so, my
lord. Their effort to retrieve the Garou was unsuccessful. Both of
our soldiers were killed in the attempt."

"It seems as if we underestimated the power that this Lost Cub wields.
No matter." Thraxuil stepped slowly down to where Kraxthus was
kneeling. He reached out one massive, furred hand and began stroking
Kraxthus's head. Kraxthus endeavored not to shake. "Well, this Garou
will have a surprise in store for her." He stopped his stroking, and
walked back up to his seat. "When you go, tell Illiaaz-ikthya that I
wish to see him."

* * *

Buffy stood by Willow's side, watching her friend sleep. All the
lines of pain and fever that marred her friend's features had
disappeared, and some color began to work its way back into her
cheeks. She looked back at Nichole in mild surprise.

"I was able to heal her, using a gift taught to me by a Unicorn
spirit," Nichole answered quietly. "Unfortunately, I don't have
enough energy to heal her further, or to heal you."

Buffy shrugged, and gently brushed some hair out of Willow's face.
"I'll heal pretty quick. I always do. As long as Willow is safe..."

Chris looked at the two friends, sadness reflected on his face. He
said soberly, "Willow is being hunted by Black Spirals, and they
aren't easily discouraged. I should take her to Los Angeles, to be
with her own tribe."

Buffy whirled around and stepped forward, poking his chest with her
finger. "Look," she said, in a low voice, "Willow isn't going
anywhere until she's healed. And she isn't going anywhere where I
won't be able to protect her."

Nichole nodded. "I agree with Buffy, she shouldn't be moved far until
she gets a chance to recover her strength. Particularly if that means
placing her in with a bunch of Glass Walkers." She gave Chris a
distasteful look, causing him to bristle.

"Ok, well, where should we take her, then?" Chris said, gritting his
teeth. "They can't go back to their dorm, the Black Spirals found
them there, and I was able to find out where she lived without any
difficulty too."

Buffy thought for a moment. "We should take her to Giles'. She'll be
safe there. Once we drop her off, Nichole should stay with her while
Chris and I go back to the dorm to get her things." She had entered
full Slayer Mode now, and she challenged the two werewolves with a
single, confident glance. Neither Garou chose to argue. "Ok, then,
let's get Willow back to the car."

* * *

Giles opened the front door, allowing Buffy to enter. She was
carefully carrying Willow, who had still not regained consciousness.

"Go ahead and lay her down in the back room," Giles said, pointing the
way for Buffy. She had called him from Chris's cell phone on their
way over, and he had already prepared the room for the recovering
young woman. He nodded greetings to Nichole, and looked at the
newcomer with curiosity.

As Buffy took Willow into the back room, Nichole smiled warmly at
Giles. "Nice to meet you again, Mr. Giles. I only wish it were under
better circumstances. This is a ... friend of mine, Chris Maxwell.
He helped bring Willow over here. Chris, this is Rupert Giles."

Chris stepped forward and shook Giles' hand firmly. "Glad to meet
you, sir," he said, turning on the charm that only a Vice President of
a large corporation could manage.

"Yes, well, the pleasure is mine," Giles responded, somewhat taken
aback by the young man's enthusiasm. "I must thank you for the timely
help both of you have given to Willow. Can I get you anything?"

Chris declined. "Nothing for me, thanks. Buffy and I have an errand
to run after she gets Willow settled."

Nichole nodded. "I expect Willow will sleep through the rest of the
night. Her body is conserving energy from the massive amounts of
healing I forced it to do."

Buffy re-entered the room, nodding at Nichole. "She's still out.
Ready to blow this pop stand, Chris?" Chris nodded. "By the way,
Giles, were you able to find the thing we talked about?"

Giles nodded, and went over to his desk. Picking up a blade in a long
sheath, he walked over and gave it to Buffy. "Yes, I found it in my
attic. The sigils carved into the leather sheath..." he pointed to
the markings, "...should have protected it from tarnish or damage.
It's a Celtic design, perhaps from the late tenth century..."

Buffy nodded. "I got it, Giles." She removed the blade from the
sheath, and examined it with a critical eye. It seemed more like an
oversized knife than a sword, but it was easily over a foot long; its
surface gleamed silver in the light. She swung it a couple of times,
testing its balance, and as one Nichole and Chris took a step back.

"Let's roll."

END Part 5


--
"I question the stability of a company whose future depends on
Microsoft programs being intelligent. I don't question the idea
that Office Assistants are the most advanced Microsoft technology."
-- Joel Ray "Piquan" Holveck
*email: erin@xxxxxxxxxxx