“Most of you know about what went down in these woods about sixty years ago,” Greg said solemnly, glancing briefly at his four pals before lingering on Jeremy and the other new guy, Xander.
Jeremy rolled his eyes as he finished off the rest of his beer. What thing that went down sixty years ago was he talking about? This was the outskirts of Sunnydale, all kinds of shit was always happening. Was it the time the Summer Hellmouth Carnival had been overrun with gopher roaches that his granny G’larglmenx had told him about? The much more likely option of the quake caused by that dumbass vampire trapping himself? Or some made up shit the normies came up with to scare themselves?
“… you ever go down to Walleye Swamp, you better not go at night.”
A disgusted snort seemed like too much effort, but he seriously considered it. Looked like it was made up shit. And really lazy made up shit at that. Yeah, this part of the woods was called Walleye Swamp, but using that as an excuse to play make believe with The Legend of Wooley Swamp was just pathetic.
“Isn’t that a song?” Xander blurted out, interrupting Greg’s spiel about an old hermit – “cleverly” named Lucas Stone instead of Lucias Clay – burying jars of money in the swamp.
At least one of the full humans had a brain in his head. Or at least good taste in music. Jeremy studied Xander while Greg blathered on about how The Charlie Daniels Band totally stole the idea for their song from Sunnydale of all places.
The college aged crew of Papa Pete’s Pizza Emporium liked to go out in the woods every few months for a beer-fueled camp out, inviting along any newbies who had lasted at least three months. Jeremy knew why he was there – the free beer – but honestly hadn’t expected Xander to show. Dude had a girlfriend and his own group of friends outside of work.
Then again, from what he’d heard, those friends were from high school and were going to college. Poor fucker was probably trying to find some people to hang out with while his old friends moved on without him.
Jeremy shook his head and refocused on the “spooky” story just as Brad chipped in with some bullshit story about a cousin who found a jar, but dropped it when the ground turned into quicksand beneath his feet. Supposedly, only a handy tree branch overhanging the area had kept him from being sucked down while someone unseen laughed at his dumb ass.
“For the past couple of years,” Greg continued, taking up the tale, “we’ve come out here to Walleye Swamp and try to dig up Lucas Stone’s money.”
As if that was some kind of signal, all of the “old timers” of Papa Pete’s stood up and grabbed a shovel from the pile next to Greg.
“This is dumb,” Jeremy declared, getting up just enough to grab another beer from the cooler. The fact that he was half demon gave him better night vision, but that still didn’t make running around at night to dig in the woods at all appealing. “You guys go have fun running and digging around in the dark. I’m going to keep the booze company.”
Greg gave him a disgusted look, which Jeremy returned with the interest of a middle finger, then looked to Xander. “What about you, Harris? You in?”
Which would it be? Pass on something he had to know was stupid bullshit, or join the group just to feel like he belonged?
“Well,” Xander said, slowly getting to his feet. “I wouldn’t want to get between Jeremy and the booze. The booze might get jealous.”
He had to laugh at that. He was joining in on the stupid, but at least he knew it was stupid and had a decent sense of humor.
At first, everything went about how he expected. Idiots running around and attempting “spooky” laughs to scare each other. He’d finished off his beer and had just started another when he noticed the weird smell. Like cinnamon and burnt cat pee.
A couple of minutes later, the screaming began.
...
In the bright light of day, it looked like a perfectly normal spot in the woods. Trees. Bushes. Jeremy asleep near the remains of the fire, cuddling a disturbing number of empty beer bottles. It didn’t look like someone had died, dragged down into quicksand.
Xander stared down at the patch of solid ground. He’d reacted the instant he’d heard the screaming, dropping his shovel and running towards the sound. Barely any time at all, but Shane had already sunk down to his waist in a pool of quicksand that was too wide for anyone to reach him without also sinking.
The others had just stood there, frozen in various stages of shock while Xander had searched frantically for something long and sturdy enough to reach him. He’d just found a good branch when the screaming suddenly stopped, replaced with creepy laughter, like an old man cackling from beyond the grave.
He’d failed. If he’d just been faster or better or anything but himself, he could have saved Shane. Willow would have been able to use some kind of magic. Buffy was just that fast and strong, she’d have saved him in half the time it even took Xander to get to the quicksand. Even Riley or Giles could have figured out a way. Or Anya, with her quick wits, assuming she’d felt like helping someone she didn’t know. But Shane had died, because none of them had been there. Only–
“I’m not sure how we’re going to be able to find this thing,” Willow said, pulling Xander out of his thoughts.
She and Buffy had dropped everything to come investigate the camp site, even skipping a couple of classes. It had left Xander feeling horribly, guiltily grateful for what had happened.
“We’ll figure something out,” Buffy said, patting his shoulder.
He hid a wince. Bruises were all a part of the Buffy package, no matter how gentle she thought she was being. It was worth it, though, and telling her about it when it didn’t involve accidentally squeezing all the air out of him would only make her feel bad.
“You could always try tracking it from the weird smell.”
Jeremy had woken up at some point, found another bottle of beer, and ambled over to impart his wisdom. He yawned and stretched, his joints bending to a seriously alarming degree. Alarming enough that Buffy narrowed her eyes and put herself between him and Xander, which also blocked him easily getting at Willow.
“What are you?” she asked, her body taking on that deceptively loose and relaxed quality that meant she was ready to fight.
On one hand, it felt good to have her jump to defend him like that. On the other, it made him feel weak. And then on the mutant third hand, Jeremy probably hadn’t had anything to do with what had happened last night.
“Capricorn,” Jeremy answered blandly before taking a swig of his beer. “But, somehow, I don’t think you’re a normie asking my sign. I’m half gremlin on my father’s side.”
“But gremlins aren’t real!” Willow protested. “They were just something World War II pilots invented to explain problems with their planes.”
Jeremy’s bland smile stretched into a grin, showing canine teeth that were just slightly more pointed than the average human.
“That’s when my Granny G’s tribe first found the portal here. This is a hub dimension, you know. Kind of like LAX, but for demons.” He shrugged and gestured towards the general area where Shane had been sucked into the ground. “Either way, there’s no way I could’ve done that. Gremlins play with metal and electricity, not dirt. What we had here last night was probably a night worm, riled up by the Master Dumbass about sixty years ago and bound to service by some crazy old hermit.”
“And you can track it by smell?” Buffy asked.
Jeremy snorted. “Hell no. A gremlin’s sense of smell is about the same as a human’s. You want something that’s around at night hunted by scent? You need a vampire. Good luck on getting one of those assholes to help you out, though.”
Apparently finished with the conversation, he wandered off back to the campsite.
“So,” Xander said after a moment of silence, “which one of us hunts up The Evil Undead and bribes or threatens him for a favor? If it’s the second option, I volunteer.”
Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’ll do it. He’ll probably be in the Bronze at some point tonight.”
“Oh, but, Buffy, what about the party Riley invited us to?” Willow asked, sounding anxious.
It was another one of those one hand and another hand situations. The frat party at Lowell House sounded like fun, but Anya hadn’t exactly been over the moon about a house full of Initiative operatives. Ultimately, though, it was all up to Buffy.
She sighed again. “We’re going to have to skip it. Riley will understand… probably.”
...
He noticed the moment she walked into the Bronze, her tin soldier following along at her heels. The irritation on her face could have been due to whatever had brought her there, clearly looking for him, but Spike didn’t think so. Soldier Boy was radiating sullen disapproval like pus from an infected wound. Put together with the Slayer’s annoyance, it spelled out one thing. Finn was in the doghouse, and clearly felt he didn’t deserve to be.
Well, well, well, he thought with a smirk. Looked like tonight was going to be more interesting than the slog of scaring girls and old biddies out of their handbags.
The slayer came right to his table, sitting down like she owned the place. But before she could do more than open her mouth to speak, Finn slammed his hands down on the table, glaring at him.
“Like being free, Hostile Seventeen? You can do what we want, or I can drag you back to The Initiative right now. Your choice.”
There was a moment of terror as his thoughts went back to his time as a captive, but he didn’t let any of it show on his face. Only his body reacted, muscles tensing as he prepared to take several blows as he escaped. Then he caught sight of Buffy’s face and relaxed.
Surprise and disgust, which meant Finn’s threat wasn’t slayer sanctioned. The worst he could do would be a punch or two before his own girlfriend put a stop to it. She’d no problem engaging in a round of kick-the-Spike of her own, but could get oddly possessive about anyone else using her favorite punching bag.
He let contempt fill his eyes as he stared at Soldier Boy. Then he pointedly looked away, dismissing the man as he focused on the slayer.
“In a bit of a bother, are we?” he drawled. “Just so happens that I’ve nothing terribly pressing going on tonight. Might be I could help you out. If the price is right.”
“You’re goi–“
“Riley!” the slayer snapped, cutting him off. She dug some money out of her pocket and shoved it at him. “Go buy a bottle of Jack Daniels while I talk to Spike.”
The man’s jaw clenched as he glared at Spike for a moment longer. Then he pushed away from the table, ignoring the money as he stalked towards the bar.
“Who took a piss in his Wheaties?”
“Eww.” Buffy wrinkled her nose, then sighed and put her cash down on the table. She was a right pain in the arse, but she could be bloody adorable at times. “We were supposed to be at some party at his frat house tonight, but instead we’re going to be hunting for a monster in the woods. It’s some underground thing that can turn dirt into quicksand and back and has a distinctive scent. It killed one of Xander’s coworkers while they were having a Thursday night campout before the big weekend shifts.”
“Wait, some underground nasty killed someone right in front of one of your best mates, and the bloke you’re dating thinks you’d just be able to forget about that to go to a frat party?”
“He’s just… worried about me. He thinks I’m trying to do too much, and that I’m being self-centered, thinking that I’m the only one who can deal with certain things.”
Spike just stared at her, trying to process what he was hearing. It had always been crystal clear to him that Finn didn’t fit with the slayer and her lot, but this….
“What part of Slayer-bloody-The does the wanker not understand?” He shook his head in disgust. “What is it you see in him? Can’t just be that the big and beefy type seem to get your knickers wet.”
“Shut up, Spike.” She scowled at him, her cheeks turning red in embarrassment. “I’m not here to talk about my love life. Are you going to help us find this thing or not? There’s twenty bucks and a bottle of Jack in it for you.”
“Make it fifty and throw in a bottle of human blood from Willy’s.”
“Forty and a couple of ounces of Slayer in a coffee mug.”
“…Can I mock Captain Cardboard without you bitching about it?”
“… Deal.”
...
Willow and Xander were already back in the clearing by the time Buffy returned, Spike and Riley in tow. The clever insults and heavy-handed threats had already started, and she was ignoring both. Letting the insults slide was all part of the deal, but she felt kind of guilty that she didn’t really even want to put a stop to them. Not after the argument they’d had.
“You want to cancel our date for work?”
“It’s not work, Riley. It’s–“
“Work,” he insisted, anger flashing in his eyes. “You’ve got to be off the clock sometimes. If that thing has been in the woods for sixty years, one more night isn’t going to make that much of a difference.”
“Now that I know about it–“
“What, it’s suddenly your job to keep people from being stupid?”
“When it involves killer demons? Yeah. Except it’s not a job. It’s a duty. You’re military, you should get that.”
“Even soldiers get leave. You can’t save the entire world, Buffy.”
“Actually, I can. I’ve done it a few times now. The thing in the woods probably isn’t going to destroy the world, but Xander saw it kill his coworker.”
“And I can sympathize with that. But like you said, it was a coworker at a pizza place, not a friend. He was invited to the party, too. Instead of hunting around in the woods, he should come to the party and try to take his mind off what happened. He’ll be fine. It was just some guys doing something dumb, and there’s really no reason to insert yourself into--”
“Insert myself? I’m the slayer, Riley! When demons kill someone and I know about it, I kill them. End of story. You can either join me in hunting this thing down or go to the party on your own. Your choice.”
He’d chosen to join in the hunt, but he wasn’t happy about it. And she wasn’t happy with him. No matter how she tried to explain it, he couldn’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that being the slayer wasn’t a nine to five job that she could just set aside whenever she wanted to do something.
“I brought some rope and shovels,” Xander called out, pulling Buffy from her relationship issues. He passed the shovels out to everyone, including the vampire. “In case we have to do any digging to get at this thing.”
“Alright then,” Spike said, starting to wander around the area. “What is it I’m meant to be sniffing for, exactly?”
“It smells kind of like my basement if someone used the hotplate to make cinnamon toast.”
Buffy shuddered at Xander’s description, remembering the last time she’d been in his basement. The Harris family cat had a serious obsession with peeing on that hotplate.
“Is that what that is?” Spike muttered with a look of disgust. “Thought I was having some sort of trauma flashback.”
He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath through his nose, which was fascinatingly gross. Could he smell her? She’d showered, but that had been a few hours. She’d sweated since then. She couldn’t smell herself, but she didn’t have a super nose. Was he standing there, judging her for being all smelly and gross? A lot of vampires seriously stank, but Spike tended to have better personal hygiene than at least half of her classmates. Which wasn’t actually saying much, but her mom never had any problems letting him into her kitchen. And, if she was being scrupulously honest, he’d always smelled pretty good when they’d up close and personal in a fight. Or that time when Willow’s spell–
No, we are not thinking about that, she told herself firmly.
“This way,” Spike announced, opening his eyes.
He led them to the area where Xander’s coworker had died, circling it before heading deeper into the woods. The relative dryness of the ground turned to edge-of-swamp muck, leaving Buffy grateful that she’d had the foresight to change into an old pair of boots before even heading to the Bronze.
Ten more minutes, and they came to a rundown and clearly abandoned shack. Spike stopped and looked around before taking another one of those deep breaths.
“Scent is strongest here, and crisscrossed all over itself. This is the beastie’s lair.”
“So… do we just dig around until we find it?” Willow asked, glancing around dubiously.
“This is its lair,” Spike repeated. “If your half-gremlin is right about it being bound to protect some dead old man’s treasure horde, it’s probably bringing the stuff back here whenever anyone finds it. Even if it isn’t, like as not it’ll respond to any disruptions just to protect its place.”
Buffy took a moment to consider who and what she had to work with. The quicksand had lived up to its name, swallowing Xander’s coworker down before anyone could help him. The rope would come in handy for that, and definitely needed to be used to tether Xander, Willow, and Riley together. Spike was the fastest of them all. The rope would only get in his way. As the strongest of the group, she had the best chance of using the rope to pull anyone out, but being tethered would cut down on her ability to fight the demon.
“Okay,” she said, turning towards the three normal humans, “you guys tie yourselves together before we start digging.” She pivoted to face Spike. “I want you roaming, no digging. If you see someone in trouble, help out if you can, otherwise, be prepared to jab your shovel into the center of any quicksand. You might be able to hurt it before it moves away.”
“Got it,” he said, starting to circle the area.
Riley still wasn’t happy, but didn’t complain as he tied the rope around himself and her friends.
Not exactly the first holes he’s dug today, Buffy thought grumpily. Then she thrust the blade of her shovel into the ground and started to dig.
...
The beast responded quickly. Red screamed as the ground under her feet turned to sand, but the boy and Cardboard had her well in hand. Spike stabbed the shovel into the center, hitting something with a solid blow. The worm writhed away, nearly taking the shovel with it, and several small circles of quicksand appeared.
Spike sprinted towards the one giving off the strongest scent and got in another jab. Then it was gone again. Bugger was fast, that was for sure. Where had it…? There!
“Left!” he called out as the slayer looked about, trying to figure out which spot of quicksand to target.
She spun, hair flowing like golden liquid in the moonlight as she moved, and stabbed down with her shovel. Aggravating as she was, the girl could move. A fresh surge of hate for the thing in his head washed through him. Could have done without her constantly messing up his plans, but it had always been a joy to fight her. And now…
The slayer pulled back her shovel, but the creature reacted differently this time. All of the extra pools of quicksand vanished, a large circle forming around Buffy. Bloody hell.
She’s mine, he thought, preparing himself for what he was about to do. When she died, it was going to be by his hand, not taken out by an overgrown worm that smelt of mog piss and cinnamon.
He leaped at the edge of the pool and slammed into her, gritting his teeth against the pain exploding through his head as his momentum carried them out of the quicksand. Solid ground as he hit, turning soft as he struggled to get his body to move through the jagged bolts of agony. Hands grabbed at him, roughly pulling him to safety. An angry shout from several feet away.
He blinked his vision clear as the pain faded. Buffy was still near him, while Harris savagely jabbed away at the center of a small patch of sand. He hadn’t the strength to do much damage, but seemed angry enough to not give much of a damn. The ground shook, the sand writhing, and when Harris pulled back the shovel, the end had been bit clean off. Then the sand shifted, trying to suck him down.
Willow planted her feet, trying to pull him out, while the “Great American Hero” stabbed uselessly at an empty bit of sand. Spike lurched to his feet and darted over, grabbing the rope in front of Willow to haul Xander back up to solid ground.
“Sod this,” Spike muttered, glancing around. The boy had brought two coils of rope. He ran for the discarded one, scooping it up and quickly tying one end around his waist. He tossed the other end towards the Slayer. “If this works, dig me up.”
Zigzags of sand blooming all about. He ran for the one with the greatest stench, refusing to let himself dwell on what he was planning to do. Then he dove into the quicksand.
Dark. Sand closed in all around him. No air.
Don’t bloody need air.
He forced himself down. Down, down. Where? Something more solid than the sand, but softer than dirt. He wrapped himself around the worm, trying to ignore the press of the sand. Had to kill it. Had to get out. Get air. Dig into the flesh. Flashes of the past, upside down in an occupied coffin, digging down through the corpse so he could turn about to escape.
Dig and bite. Swallowing mouthfuls of vile ichor that made the pig seem ambrosial in comparison. Bite, tear as the worm wriggled and writhed. One last spasm.
And then the sand turned to dirt, pinning him down in the depths.
...
The ground shook. Hard enough to knock Riley off his feet, though Xander and the other two native Californians managed to ride it out. Once it was over, all of the quicksand pools vanished, leaving Buffy holding a rope that disappeared into solid ground.
“And now for the annoying part,” Xander muttered, tossing aside the useless shovel handle before untying the rope from around his waist.
Once he was loose, he headed for Spike’s discarded shovel. Helping to dig a vampire out of the ground wasn’t exactly his preferred way to spend a night, but the sooner they got to it, the sooner he could get home and maybe spend some quality time with Anya.
Buffy was already at the rope, digging, when he and Willow joined her. Riley just watched them for a moment with an odd look on his face.
“You know,” Riley finally said, “we’ve only missed about an hour of the party. We can get in a quick clean up and be there in no time.”
Xander froze with a shovelful of dirt, exchanging a look with the girls. Riley wanted them to just… leave? He wasn’t exactly Spike’s biggest fan, but leaving him there trapped in the ground seemed pretty cold, especially with how much he’d done. Suddenly, Anya’s worries about being around Riley and the other Initiative guys at Lowell House didn’t seem quite so paranoid.
“Um….” Willow shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “We kind of have to dig Spike out before we can go to a party.”
“Why?” Riley argued. “He’s an HST of a type that doesn’t even need to breathe. In fact, they dig themselves out of their graves all the time. He can get himself out. You’ve done enough for one night.”
He gave Buffy a pointed look, but she just shook her head, exchanging another look with Xander and Willow before going back to digging.
He doesn’t get it, Xander realized. And as he got back to work, he realized something else. Maybe he wasn’t going to college like Willow and Buffy, but he was still one of them. He understood the world in the same way they did. It was one of those things that couldn’t be taught, only learned by some people as they grew up. There was no in between stage. You either got it, or you didn’t.
And Riley didn’t. Despite being older than all of them, he likely never would.
...
There were a lot of things that Jeremy didn’t particularly care about. Pizza was not one of those things. Pizza was Art. And he was an artist. He gazed upon his unmarred canvass of dough for a moment before putting on the perfect amount of sauce, spreading it just so. Then the seasonings. An even sprinkling across most of the expanse, with a few areas here and there with just a bit more, where they would offer a tantalizing surprise to the tastebuds. Then the cheese, placed oh-so-carefully so it would melt together just right. Finally, the pepperoni. Each slice was placed with absolute precision, with two of them nudged just out of alignment to give it that look of handcrafted perfection.
He gazed upon his creation and was pleased.
“So,” Xander said, coming up to him as he slid his latest masterwork into the oven. “An interesting thing happened when I came into work today. Everyone who missed their shift got written up. Except for me, because, apparently, I was here last night. And made record time on all of my deliveries. Would you happen to know anything about that?”
“I know that, last night, you had a lot of rambling stories. And way too much of an interest in my love life and food consumption.” Xander’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t ask any of the questions Jeremy could see behind his eyes. He decided to take pity on the human. “My granny is owed a lot of favors, including from a witch who specializes in glamours. She also has a serious lead foot when it comes to driving.”
“Uh-huh… and why, exactly, would your granny impersonate me? The sheer thrill of delivering pizza at high speeds?”
“Hell no, she has her usual weekend drag racing for that. Free tip: do not compete against a full gremlin in a motorized race. You will lose.”
Those expressive brown eyes asked more questions. He was kind of like a puppy in a way, and Jeremy had never been able to resist a puppy. Puppies and pizza, two of the finest things in the human world. He’d throw this particular pup a bone. Especially since telling him the whys and wherefores might help out his granny and father. Not to mention himself.
“Your blonde friend,” he said, lowering his voice even though no one else was close enough to overhear. “I’m guessing she’s the slayer, and I told Granny G as much. A lot of the demons in Sunnydale are worried. There are these commando guys running around and grabbing folks, even if they’re just minding their own business and not hurting anyone. The slayer is one thing. She’s supposed to keep everyone in line, you know? And she doesn’t go after anyone unless they’ve crossed that line. But these guys….”
“They aren’t seeing any of the gray in the world,” Xander said quietly. “Just reacting to the black and white.”
Jeremy nodded. “Granny G figures, if we help out a friend of the slayer, maybe she’ll help if one of us gets nabbed.”
“Or maybe before one of you gets nabbed.”
“Yeah.”
Xander nodded slowly, then wandered over to pick up a finished order for delivery, leaving Jeremy to start on his next work of art. Pizza mattered. Family mattered.
Friends, old and possibly new, mattered.