whattingawhat | The end's not near, it's here

While Angel is away in HelLA, Dawn has steadily been getting weaker and weaker. Buffy has found herself having a hard time remembering specific memories of Dawn, things that she once cherished are fading. There's not a lot of time, but Angel's research is their best hope for getting Dawn back.

He came back.

Angel could've stayed. He could've gathered the necessary materials from the hotel, loaded them up on the dragon's back and instructed him to take it and Faith back to the door they left propped open, but he didn't. He returned alongside her, carting weapons, references, and invaluable resources that likely no longer existed in the version of the world Buffy, her sister, and Faith belonged to. Angel didn't know if he, as he existed now, would ever be a part of that divergent stream of time, but he did know that helping to restore balance to that world currently took precedence over dragging Los Angeles out of hell.

Oftentimes, what one wanted to do was not what they needed to do, and that's a lesson in life that the former vampire's intimately familiar with. Even though he wanted nothing more than to remain in LA to fight the good fight against a force that was determined to keep them down (literally), he was needed in the quest to restore magic. He could set that aside from now, abandon his city willingly, and return to the hotel in order to assist with a cause that was, at the moment, greater than his own.

His choices were not the easiest in life. (Or death.)

It's with an armful of ancient texts, some frayed around the edges from the wear and tear they've seen, that he steps into the conference room in the lobby they've commandeered. He takes a seat a the head of the table out of habit, half expecting Harmony to pop her head in the room to ask if she should send whatever demon clan was waiting for him in the lobby inside.

He almost misses those days. Almost.

Buffy had half expected him to send a bag full of things, drop it off with a see you later, and dart back to his own world. She would have even understood if he had done that. He had a life and a world and people back in his world, just like she had Dawn here. She will never be able to repay him for coming back, because while Angel is focusing on the world, Buffy was focusing on Dawn. As far as she knew, her world was coping just fine without magic. Yes, Angel had told her how bad it was, but she'd yet to see any sign of it, not until Dawn started fading.

It's a lesson that they've both had to learn. Buffy tends to disregard it more often than he, but in the end, when it comes right down to it, she'll make sure she does what's best for the world. She just tries to do it her way rather than anyone else's way.

Their choices were never going to be easy. It was the burden of being a hero.

Buffy is seated to his right, exhausted and on edge. She needs this to work. She doesn't know what she'll do if Dawn disappears entirely.

"I don't guess there's a cliffnotes version?" It's said without a lot of humor though. She's too worried for humor.

"CliffNotes would imply there's an easy way to do this. There's not."

Angel's blunt and to the point while in research mode, operating almost on autopilot as he flips through various volumes, jotting down notes on a pad of yellow paper. His penmenship predates the text he's looking through now, his pen continuing to move across the page in loops and curls that were long abandoned in favor of modern writing practices.

Then again, while human, he's something of a living fossil; a rare specimin of untainted DNA from centuries long past. No vaccinations, no medications, no new age dietary crazes... Just a thick coat of primordial glamour that would likely kill him before the common cold or chicken pox did.

"...does this look like a J to you?" He flips the book around and pushes it towards her. There's a rip in the page towards the bottom, and a piece of the corner is missing, cutting off the text at the end of the paragraph.

"Okay, then we do it the hard way."

Buffy had a much vaguer idea of what they were looking for. She flipped through the books, squinting at pages, occasionally turning them upside down to see if she could find anything that made any sense to her. She's actually quite grateful when Angel asks her question. She leans over the table, studying the book with intensity.

"Uhm...yes? Or an L with a curly thing on the end of it."

"L?" Angel turns the book back around, drawing up so he can inspect the edge closer. "That is an L." Oh. "That's an L."

The book's dropped and the pad of paper drawn closer as Angel scratches out one translation in favor of replacing it with another. That being an L and not a J changes everything. A text he was about to deem worthless just became an invaluable temporary fix to the problem of Dawn disappearing. Translated properly, it tells him exactly what he needs to know: That his hunch is more reality that not — and more importantly, that it's possible.

"I think I just figured out a way to save your sister."

The relief on Buffy's face and in her body language practically shouts it's so obvious. She's been terrified since Dawn started disappearing that she'd lose her sister forever, and worried about it even longer than that.

"Please be all share time before I go crazy pants and start insisting."

"Binding spell. It's not a permanent fix, but it should stop the disappearing act and re-solidify her corporeal form."

Angel drags a different book closer and flips it open to one of the middle chapters, scanning the text as he continues.

"The monks who gave Dawn a human form did so by sampling your DNA. There's already parts of you in her, so making you the anchor shouldn't be too hard. All you'd have to do is not die again." Joke? Joke. Bad joke, but a joke. "That is, if you're okay with me binding your sister's life directly to yours. I could bind her to someone else, but making an anchor out of nothing, so to speak, would take time we might not have."

Since when did he become the magic-user of the group? From resident vampire to resident warlock. Go figure.

At this point, Buffy doesn't care if it's a permanent fix. They can work on reinvigorating the seed of magic once Dawn is solid. There's a great deal of hope in her expression, also some tension and anxiety, but those will be dealt with in time.

She leans forward on her elbows, moving close enough that she can look over the book as well, her shoulder pressed against Angel's. She might not understand all the writing in the book, but she wants to see it. She looks at him, smirking at the very bad joke. "No. I want you to use me." She wouldn't want Dawn's life tied to anyone else's. That would quickly turn her into a basket case. "What do I need to do? Besides not die again."

Hell if she knows, but she's surprisingly comfortable with it. She trusts Angel, even now after everything, she trusts him and she wouldn't want to willingly put her sister's life in many other people's hands.

Angel hasn't cast binding spells before, but he's assisted in setting them up more times than he can count. Those spells involved binding a person to a plane or an object, not a person to a person, but it was the same principal. He'd done something similar recently with the talisman that the vampire glamour perpetuating his still undead lie was bound to. The spell to it and it to him.

He just had to modify it to be person-to-person. That wouldn't be too hard. Tricky and difficult, maybe, but not impossible. And not any less complicated than the primordial magicks he's been dabbling in for months.

"Your blood."

Buffy was just grateful that Angel had any experience. Without Willow here, they were flying blind on the magic end of things and maybe, Buffy should try to remedy that, but for the moment she was content to let Angel be the magic user.

"My--" She stopped. She didn't know why she was surprised. It always came down to blood, didn't it.

"Of course you need my blood. How much of it?" Did she slice across her arm or did she tap a vein? Honestly, she wasn't particular about either one if it saved Dawn.

When he was in Sunnydale, he had the magical knowledge, but not so much the experience or the ability to wield it properly. Magic was a fine art, and one that often didn't get along with the evil-inclined demon within. A vampire could cast spells, but not with the efficiency of a human's hand. There was something about being literally dead inside that didn't spin the spells quite as well as a lively touch.

Now that he was human, the knowledge became experience with all the casting he's done from behind the walls of the crumbling Wolfram & Hart building he'd been bound to before someone got it into their head to demolish it. He would've come back with more resources than he did if that hadn't been the case, for the firm's collection of magical artifacts and resources was impressive, to say the last. And, quite frankly, the only reason he was still alive after he leapt from the top of a skyscraper without realizing he was human.

It wasn't his best moment. Nor were the subsequent months he spent healing. At least his side was scaring nicely, now, thanks to Buffy's quick stitching in lieu of his usual magic tricks.

"About a vile's worth, for starters. I think I have one somewhere..."

Angel turns away from her to dig through one of the bags full of stuff he and Faith brought back from Hell on Earth. He pulls one out, uncorks it, and hands her one of the daggers he grabbed out of the weapons cabinet in the lobby of the hotel — his hotel.

"Do you... or should I?" Tap the vein. Cut her. He doesn't want to assume she'd be okay with him doing that for her, even though they both know that he has the precision of a doctor with his background in the refined art of torture.

Later, she might ask more detailed questions about the experience, but she's already gathered from what little he has told her, that he got some experience casting spells, at least of a certain sort, while in HelLA. Right now, she's focused on this one spell and this one incident, casting glances over at Dawn to assure herself that she's not gone yet. Right now, she's just grateful that Angel has the experience.

His question draws her attention away from Dawn and back to him. She nods a little. "Please." Her hands are shaking and she'd rather he do it. This way, she's less likely to have a scar and it's more likely to be right.

Wordlessly, Angel takes her hand in his, holding it so her fingers are splayed. He drags the blade against her skin, a quick, sharp movement meant to be as painless as possible. Angel knows how to make it hurt, but he also knows how to do the opposite.

The blood pools in her hand as he reaches for the vile.

"Make a fist."

He waits for her to do so, then guides her hand over the vile and holds it steady with his own so her blood drips directly into it.

She holds her breath a little when he takes her hand, choosing to watch him rather than what he's doing. She exhales when he slides the knife across her skin. Pain is something that Buffy learned how to deal with a long time ago so she doesn't even wince.

She does as he asks, letting the blood drop into the vile, still watching him. This Angel is still a mystery to her. He's something straight out of her daydreams and despite the fact that he's been here and human for a while, it's still hard not to stare at him.

The staring isn't exactly comforting, but he's growing used to it. Of course she's staring, even though there's hardly anything different to be scene beyond the glamour's faux vampire visage. The sun/moon situation in hell meant that he was still as pale as ever, the sun's rays affected by the presence of the moon, and most of his battle scars have faded thanks to the magic he used upon himself.

Magic that he was about to use on Dawn.

"That should do it." He holds the vile steady between his knees while he reaches for a strip of gauze, urging her fingers to open so he can press it against the slash across her palm. "I'll let you know if I need more."

He shouldn't, though. Instructions are easy to follow and Angel's gotten really good at following magical instructions these past few months. As long as he follows them to a T, this spell should go off without a hitch.

Angel caps the vile and adds it to the pile of things he needs in order to pull this binding spell off.

Nothing different to see, but something entirely different none the less. She knows he's human now and that does make all the difference.

She opens her fingers easily, allowed him to put pressure on the wound. It'll heal quickly enough, not immediately, of course, but enough that she's not bothered by it.

"Okay. Thank you. A million times again. I don't know if--she's everything to me."

And somehow, she knows that Angel gets that because of Connor. They both have someone created from parts of them that mean more than the world.

"Don't thank me just yet," he tells her.

There's still a complex spell to be performed, something he doesn't necessarily have the right mojo to do. It's risky, and being coated in as many layers of glamour as he is, it's even riskier, but he's willing to take the chance. Because someone has to, because someone ought to. None of this is Dawn's fault. The monks gave her sentience and she doesn't deserve to have that sentience ripped away from her, shouldn't be reduced to a mass of swirling, lifeless energy. If he can stop that, then he's going to do something about it.

He's lost too many people he cared about to see someone he loved lose someone they love, too. Especially to something like this.

"I know. I get it." Because of Connor. She knows now what he did for his son, so yeah. He gets it.

The end's not near, it's here

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