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

"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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