Disclaimer: The Characters of BTVS and ATS are the property of Joss Whedon and various other people/entities. I am only using them for fun and entertainment only. This is the sad reality that hits me when I wake up from my naked Spike filled dreams.

Author’s note: Thanks and hugs to my fabulous beta, Bloodytearsoflife. This chapter really had some problems before she tackled it. Thanks also to the fab people who have reviewed, thank you for putting up with my weird penchant for multiple names of characters. (To which I say hey Joss did it too...Liam, Angel, Angelus??? Huh? and how about Anya, Aud and Anyanka??? Ok, I’m done, rant terminated.)

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Chapter 3: Misery

Buffy backed away from the approaching vampire and his sire.

This does not look good at all, thought Buffy. She backed into a small table knocking over some of Mrs. Janesay’s nick knacks, her long skirt brushing against pillows and frames of items that obviously the vampires had discarded.

Buffy threw another table into Darla’s path and made a break for it, running with ease despite her long skirts. Buffy rounded the corner of the hallways and ran up the stairs, throwing down a small table once she reached the next level, a potential obstacle.

Reaching the second floor Buffy headed into a bedroom. Calling on her mystical Slayer strength, Buffy pushed a very heavy armoire in front of the door. She stood for a moment to catch her breath and firmly decided that she should use her time wisely and come up with an actual plan.

The bedroom was dark, the only illumination the street lamps outside. Buffy knew that Darla and Angelus wouldn’t be far behind her. She needed a plan, a plan other than a straight out fight. A straight out fight she would never win.

Her trusty stake was all that stood between Angelus and her life.

If she survived, she was never wearing skirts again.

Buffy glanced around the room, looking for potential weapons. Her eyes lighted on a pair of shears, poking out of a sewing basket and without a moment’s hesitation, she began to hack away at her skirts. She hadn’t gotten very far with it before Angelus broke through the hastily barricaded door.

“Ah, lass, let’s end this game we play. Just give up, you’ll never win. You dust one of us and a hundred more are risen every night,” said the vampire.

She knew it was true. Being a Slayer was an endless fight.

“That very well maybe true Angelus,” spat the Slayer. “But at least I know in some small way, I am a very large thorn in you side.” She smiled.

“Not for long you won’t be.” Angelus advanced on her with glee in his eyes.

Buffy set her brow in determination and waited for his first blow, which she parried and forced back using her right arm, sporting the shears, cutting a large gash through Angelus’ expertly tailored suit.

Angelus drew back in horror as blood seeped from his cut. Buffy smiled and launched into a fury of punches and jabs towards the face of her adversary. Angelus fought back with equal fervour eventually pushing Buffy down onto an end table, knocking it down in the process. Buffy looked up from her prone position on the floor and wiped the blood from her lip. Angelus approached. Buffy rolled away towards the middle of the room, towards the canopy bed. It was here that her body collided with a lump, her hand brushing against something cold and clammy as she hoisted herself up from the floor. Buffy grimaced as she recognized what and who it was.

Mrs. Janesay.

Mrs. Janesay, who was snarling at her.

Mrs. Janesay, who was flashing her newly acquired fangs at her.

Buffy closed her eyes and plunged her stake into the still sprawling and obese body of Mrs. Janesay.

The distraction of Mrs. Janesay rising up as a member of the undead however, gave Angelus time to wrap his hands around Buffy’s neck.

She let out a terrified gasp and struggled against his choking grip. Suddenly Buffy struck her head backwards, knocking Angelus in the nose, and breaking his grip on her neck. Buffy breathed in a few haggard breaths before making for the French doors of the balcony. She flung herself over the side grabbing onto the trellis.

Without warning, she was grabbed by the collar and raised up to look directly into the burning amber eyes of her opponent, her legs still dangling over the side.

He was angry.

“Good bye, Slayer. When you awaken, you will be mine,” purred Angelus, tilting Buffy’s head and inching his fangs towards her neck.

Buffy felt the harsh needles of his fangs enter her skin. Silently, she whispered a prayer for her soul, and that of William‘s, before succumbing to her fate at the hands of the vampire that killed her father.
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When Buffy opened her eyes again she did not feel the terrible hunger that she expected to feel as a vampire. In fact she didn’t feel much at all. She was in a barely lit room, in a bed from what she could gather.

Her head hurt, a lot. Raising her hand to her head, she was suddenly overcome with a bout of dizziness. Somehow, she didn’t think that she was a vampire. No way could vampires feel this way and then go out for human snacks. Her hand travelled to her neck where she found Angelus’ marks, healing and already scabbed over.

After lying in the dark room, contemplating what had happened and where exactly she was, Buffy attempted to leave her confining bed.

But something was wrong.

She couldn’t move her legs.

A look of panic passed over her face. Nothing she could do would make her legs work. Buffy pulled back the blankets and what was left of her skirts to reveal her legs, which looked normal. But still she couldn’t move them.

“Giles?” she yelled panicked.

She really didn’t expect him to peer from behind the doorway of the room, but was intensely relieved when it was his calm face that appeared.

He was smiling sadly, his usual kempt style slightly dishevelled.

“Buffy, child, you are awake,” he said relieved, coming to her bedside. “How do you feel?”

“Confused. Giles, my legs, are they broken? I don’t feel any pain, but I can’t move them!” she started to wail.

“Dr. Mason examined you when I brought you back. He noticed nothing wrong.”

“Well he was wrong Giles, bring him back,” ordered a panicked Slayer.

Giles smiled. She was making demands as usual. Normal behaviour for Buffy Underwood.

“I will do that at once Buffy.”

“Where am I Giles?” she asked in a little voice, revealing the feeling of uncertainty she felt.

“You are at the Council headquarters Buffy.”

“And how did I escape with my life?” she asked in an equally small voice.

“That was my doing. I shot Angelus with a flaming arrow. He dropped you from the balcony onto the street. The house was in flames as I left with you.”

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. If she had been a vampire, they certainly would not have brought her back to their secret enclave. Giles had saved her.

“Giles? Angelus and Darla, they told me Reagan was dead...”

“Reagan is fine Buffy, asleep in her bed as we speak. When the sun rises I will send for her.”

Buffy smiled, but Giles did not return the smile.

“Giles, please tell me. You have unpleasant face, like you are about to say something particularly unpleasant,” she ordered.

“Mr. Fairchilde was found dead this evening. In the stables not far from the party,” he answered avoiding her gaze.

“No.” Buffy shook her head. “No.”

“It was vampires Buffy. We are certain of it,” continued the watcher.

“NO!” she screamed. “No,” she whimpered, turning on her side and crying into her pillow, her legs flopping listlessly over the side of the bed.

She cried. She cried for his death, and for the fact that it had happened anyway, even after she had done what the Council wanted. She was trapped in a horrible nightmare. She was a cripple and alone forever in a sea of despair.
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Hours later, after Dr. Mason had finished his examination and pronounced that she would regain the use of the legs in a few days due to her superior Slayer healing, and after she had cried all the tears she had, Buffy asked the question that she dreaded to ask.

“Was he turned?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“We are uncertain. There are signs. Blood on his mouth. There will be a Watcher guarding his grave for the week, once he is buried.”

Buffy nodded. “I want to be at his funeral Giles.”

“We have not yet told his family Buffy.”

Buffy suddenly thought back to his poor mother, Mrs. Farichilde, who was a widow, had now lost both of her children. So much loss.

“When you do, I want to visit Mrs. Fairchilde.”

“Of course, Buffy.”
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Buffy eagerly awaited the day when her legs would regain their strength. She counted her blessings that she was not trapped in a house with the Travers twins. Especially now since she had heard from Reagan that their brother Marcus had returned home from his studies at Oxford. He was even worse than the twins. Buffy’s only news from the outside world came from Reagan who was a constant visitor, and Giles who checked in on her twice daily.

William had risen. This was news that Buffy had dreaded hearing. Whoever had sired William had dispatched the Watcher keeping vigil over his grave. The Council’s fear was that William, should he be risen, would take revenge on Buffy for breaking his heart. They weren’t far off.

Reagan was of the opinion that had Buffy been in society and not convalescing in a secret room, in a secret building, she surely would have been a target of the now William the Bloody. Most of the people that had attended that particular party were now dead. Some with railroad spikes through their heads.

Not only did William the Bloody pose a problem for the Council who was suddenly with out a Slayer, but the Scourge seemed to taken an increasing interest in Buffy’s friends as well.

Once she regained the use of her legs, she intended to stake Angelus once and for all.

She only had to wait for her legs to heal.
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But her legs didn’t heal.

Buffy was left impotent and unable to leave her sequestered state as below her in conference rooms, Watchers decided her fate.

Buffy knew that they were trying to decide what to do about her. A paralysed Slayer was useless and held the Slayer line hostage in a body that could only drain resources. It was Giles’ sighs and glances that made Buffy realize that her life was in jeopardy once more, this time from the Council itself.

Again.

She wanted to live. She wanted to take her own revenge on Angelus. She wished with all her heart that she had never been a Slayer.

Reagan was the first to tell her the truth.

Reagan had returned solemn from her home, and a discussion with her father. They were sending her to university within the week.

“It can only mean one thing Buffy,” said Reagan with tears in her eyes. “They mean to euthanize you while I am gone. They would never do it while I was here. I wouldn’t allow it.”

Buffy nodded, tears in her eyes as well. Reagan’s father had been putting off sending Reagan away to school for years now. It was more than suspicious that it was now decided she would go.

“I won’t go!” cried Reagan. “I won’t let them kill you Buffy.”

Buffy sniffled. “But how will you stop them Reagan?” she asked honestly. Reagan was as much controlled by the Council as she was.

“I have to find a way. Perhaps we can do a spell?” asked Reagan hopefully.

Buffy smiled. When they had first met Reagan and Buffy had spent a good deal of their spare time looking up spells to use on demons and vampires. Buffy had a feeling that Reagan was grasping at straws, but was grateful for her friend’s concern.

They started looking into spells within the hour, pouring over texts that held curses and hexes, Buffy committed a few to memory. As they paused for refreshment, Buffy couldn’t help but notice Reagan looking far more woeful than before.

“What is it Reagan?” Buffy asked, her friend’s sudden mood change worrying her.

“Oh Buffy, I have something to confess.”

“What is it?” Buffy asked with genuine concern

Reagan set her tea down and stared at her hands. “That night, of the party, I tried to tell William why you did what you did, but he stormed off. I went after him and saw him bump into the Scourge. I didn’t think anything of it. My first thought was to inform Mr. Giles and the Council. I didn’t think they’d do anything to William. I swear it Buffy, if I’d known what would have happen, I’d gone after him,” she said through her tears. “I should have gone after him, made sure he was safe.”

“Reagan, no,” said Buffy clasping her friend’s hands. If you had gone after him, you might well have been turned too. You aren’t a Slayer.”

There was a brief moment where Buffy contemplated her existence if Reagan had been turned as well. The loss of her friend, even as an idea was unfathomable.

“I feel so bad Buffy,” Reagan confessed, wrapping her arms around Buffy and hugging her.

“Hush Reagan, there’s nothing to be done now. Just help keep me alive.”

Reagan nodded her head and they continued on in their search for the perfect spell. The spell they eventually decided on was one to cloak Buffy’s essence from the Council, so that they would never find her. The spell was complicated, and they needed a host of expensive and dangerous ingredients to perform it.

It was Reagan’s task to acquire the ingredients. They parted that night, exhausted but eager to perform the spell the next day. Provided Reagan could ‘borrow’ the ingredients they needed from her father.

The next day Buffy waited patiently for her friend’s visit.

Reagan never came.

Buffy spent a large portion of the day in denial. Of course Reagan would come. Reagan, her friend would come for her.

By midnight, Buffy had to accept that Reagan wasn’t coming. She had been caught stealing the ingredients for the potion, or she had been sent away by her father early. A dozen horrible scenarios danced through Buffy’s head, as she sat on her small bed, with nothing to distract her thoughts, and no visitors to pass the time with. Just the incessant ticking of the mantle piece clock to interrupt the silence.
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Buffy’s heart beat relentlessly. She knew they were going to come for her while they thought she was sleeping. It was hard to keep her eyes from closing given the lack of distraction in the room.

She couldn’t see what time it was when they finally did enter the room, quietly. Buffy heard the door close and the four bodies that were in the room with her approached her bed.

Buffy’s eyes snapped open as two of the men held down her arms on the bed, and one brought a pillow down on her face.

Quietly, with the last breath she had, Buffy gasped a rough combination of all the spells she had memorized from the book of hexes and curses. The sound of terrible screaming of her attackers was the last thing to fill her ears before the darkness and silence engulfed her.
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Buffy regained consciousness by herself in her sick room, alone, her attackers nowhere in sight. The pillow that had been intended as her murder weapon lay uselessly on the floor.

In the distance she could hear the muted screams of men. Buffy’s heart beat rapidly and she began to think about the curse that she had muttered.

Then she understood the screams. Her curse was a combination of two: one to make blood boil, and one an Egyptian tome robber’s curse. The four men that had tried to kill her were suffering from her curse; and would until they died, or until they killed themselves because of the pain.

Buffy lay back on her bed and laughed. Her curse had been uttered in such a way that made it so anyone who tried to kill her would suffer from the same curse. The Watcher’s Council would never be able to get rid of this Slayer problem. She could live her life now without fear. Her laughter echoed through the hallways of the Council building.

Buffy breathed after a particularly long period of manic laughter only to see a greyish demon, with a long white beard sitting at leisure in her bedroom.

“Who are you?” Buffy asked, sitting up as best she could.

“I think the question is my dear, who are you? I’ve never known a Slayer to slay her Watchers before,” said the curious demon.

“I did not slay my Watcher. Only those that tried to kill me,” uttered Buffy.

“That is true, a hex so powerful. You do know that this curse will protect you all your life?”

“I had a feeling,” said Buffy with a smile.

“Of course if you weren’t the Slayer you would have been long dead by the time you muttered your curse.”

Buffy shrugged.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“You haven’t answered mine.”

“I am Elizabeth Cecily Underwood.”

“No title to go with that?”

“No, I’ve given up the Vampire Slayer thing. If you haven’t noticed, they just tried to kill me.”

The demon nodded. “Fair enough my dear. And I must say again that your curse, truly brilliant. I haven’t seen something that innovative since, well, it’s been a good long time.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ve come to make you an offer.”

“What kind of an offer?” Buffy asked.

“An offer that will allow you to regain the use of your legs, though you would also be a demon.”

“There’s got to be a catch other than that,” said the Slayer.

“You’d be one of my girls, Vengeance demons. Heard of Anyanka?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Yes I have heard of Anyanka, you made her too?”

“Elevation is what it is called.”

“You want to elevate me?” she asked curious.

“Yes, my dear.”

“And I wouldn’t be the Slayer anymore?”

“No.”

A smile spread over Buffy’s face.
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tbc...