Chapter Text
It had started to strike Rupert Giles at odd moments that for the vast majority of people of earth, life continued much as normal. None of the people in this supermarket, for instance, were aware of the growing danger.
It was a condition he’d envied as a child, relived of his innocence by the revelation that the monsters under the bed were real. He had sought to emulate that blissful ignorance, as a young man, turning his back on the Council and refusing any part in their cause.
Which was really exactly what they had done to him today; on hearing that the slayer line – that fine line between sentient, ensouled life on earth and violent hell – was in under attack, the Council’s response had been muted at best. A committee, he’d been told, would look into it. No amount of pleading on his part had been enough to cut through the bureaucracy and invoke any sense of urgency. And in the meantime, girls would keep dying.
But not Molly, Annabelle and Kennedy not if he could help it.
It was a long-standing practice in the Council that no member, no matter what the level of their security clearance, knew the identity of more than a handful of potential slayers. Giles wasn’t sure what the maximum was, but he’d been privy to the identities of four. Nora was dead, but the other three were still out there, and Giles intended to reach them before the Bringers did. How he’d find the countless others out there, he’d have to worry about later. Perhaps the coven could help.
In the meantime, there was Molly, recently moved to her new watcher in Leeds, and Annabelle in rural Cornwall. Hard to decide who to collect first but Annabelle was older and had been in training since early childhood; possibly she could hold out a little longer if it came to that. So here Giles was, stopping en route to Leeds to buy something with caffeine in it in an effort to wake up enough to carry on driving.
It was late and the place was almost deserted; a few bored women at the tills – Girls, really, but perhaps they just looked young to him. Increasingly, Giles found that anyone under twenty five looked too young to be doing whatever they happened to be doing. There was another customer, too, who Giles had barely glanced at – that is, confirmed was not a Bringer – as he made his way to the soft drinks aisle.
A bizarre stipulation of modern consumerism, that anyone should feel any need to keep this place open twenty-four hours. Staring at the selection of energy drinks now, he chose the least offensive option and turned to head to the tills, just as the place’s only other customer rounded the corner and came fully into view.
Giles stared: it was Ethan.
Ethan, who plainly hadn’t seen him, considering the spirits and wines with every appearance of making a momentous decision. For just a moment, it was tempting to turn the other way, to pretend he hadn’t seen his former – well, former so many things – but then Giles found himself heading towards the mage before he’d quite decided to what to say.
What he did say, seeing Ethan crouching down to examine a bottle of Baileys, was “I wouldn’t if I were you. Remember that time I almost took you to A and E?”
Ethan stood up quickly. “Christmas party” he explained. “I still don’t touch the stuff. What are you doing in Tesco’s arse end of nowhere branch, Ripper?”
“I’m on my way t – never mind.” He was more tired than he’d realised, Giles supposed, to almost share his destination with Ethan Rayne of all people. Ethan who was suddenly looking worryingly interested in whatever he’d almost said. Giles quickly distracted him with, “Christmas party? Whatever happened to worshiping chaos?”
“Well Christmas has a lot of scope for Chaos.” Ethan grinned. “But officially I’m just in it for the party. And I’m supposed to bring toffee vodka for this cocktail but I can’t find any. Do you think Baileys would do instead?”
And there it was again: for everyone else, this was a normal day. Giles watched Ethan crouch down again to consider the bottles of Baileys without reaching for one. Perhaps, for Ethan, the stuff was still so tainted from the memory of being as dangerously drunk as Giles had ever seen him that he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to buy any. Giles asked, “When is the party?”
“Tonight. You look tired, Rupert.”
“I am tired” Giles held up the energy drink as evidence and Ethan wrinkled his nose at it. He asked, “You’re not driving, are you?”
“I’m not so tired I can’t drive” Giles replied, “And since when were you so concerned about safety?”
“Since the world got dangerous.”
“It was always dangerous.”
“Not like this.” Ethan straightened up again. “I think the Baileys would change the texture too much. I’ll have to try somewhere else.”
“You ought to have done this before tonight.” Giles frowned. “Aren’t you getting late?” It had to be past ten.
“Fashionably late” Ethan agreed.
“That or just disorganised” Giles smiled. It had been awhile since he’d had a conversation this amiable with Ethan; between Halloween curses, candy curses and demonic transmogrification curses there had been more than ample reason to kick the mage’s arse the last few times they’d met. It was nice to just bicker comfortably. Nostalgic.
Perhaps Ethan was thinking the same, because he smiled too; one of his rare genuine beams. “You could come with me if you like” he offered, “You look like you could use a party.”
Giles shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Why not? No harm in unwinding.” Ethan nodded to the energy drink and added, “And there’ll be better drinks than that”
“That’s not saying much; I’m sure there are better drinks than this in the average demon dimension.”
Ethan laughed, but then repeated, “You do look tired.”
“I’m alright.”
“You’re going to need to be more than alright, to deal with what’s coming.”
Giles frowned. “What do you know about that?”
Ethan shrugged, his genuine smile slipping into a more familiar sneer. “From beneath you it devours.” He stepped away as though to leave, and Giles shot out a hand to stall him.
It went straight through his shoulder.
Giles froze. Ethan – not Ethan, God, not Ethan at all – turned back to face him, slowly. The smile was cruel now. “I said something about being fashionably late?” he – it – said.
“Ethan…” Giles breathed. God, what had happened?
The First shrugged. “I thought it was funny” Its voice perfectly mimicked Ethan’s semi-serious hurt tone. “I’m trying to meet you half way with the puns here, love” Suddenly he was young. Giles blinked at the transformation: Ethan aged perhaps twenty, lithe and outrageously dressed, wicked eyes gleaming. “Oh, and there is no party” The First added. “That comes later. When’s there’s bones to dance on.”
“What –” Giles bit back the question. He couldn’t trust the First’s account of whatever fate had befallen Ethan, and he was wasting time here. Which, for all he knew, was what the First wanted. With a shattering effort, he turned and walked away.
Walked out of the supermarket, jerking to a stop only as one of the girls by the tills called, “Oi, aren’t you going to pay for that?”
Giles looked down the length of his arm. He was still carrying the blasted energy drink. He set it down at the nearest till and left empty handed. He wouldn’t need help staying awake now.
Outside, he leant against the wall for a brief moment, brick at his back reminding him suddenly of alleyways long ago. He felt robbed. Ethan was dead. Dead and Giles hadn’t even known. Surely he should have felt it? How could Ethan not be out there and he hadn’t even realised?
Taking a deep breath, Giles headed back to his car, his steps faltering when he saw the tall figure loitering beside it. He paused, but it wasn’t as though he had any choice but to return to the vehicle. He walked towards the figure.
Now, Ethan – the Not-Ethan – was older. Older than Giles had ever seen him look, in fact, and terribly thin. The worn and nondescript clothing he – it – wore were certainly not something Ethan would have chosen. A little like hospital garments. The hair, too, wasn’t Ethan’s style at all: a close cut, interrupted by an ugly row of stiches. It was fading to grey.
The apparition smirked. “You know” it said, by way of greeting, “I’m surprised you didn’t check. I mean, you were there when the Sunnydale operation shut down. You must have thought about it.”
Giles felt his mouth go dry. Without meaning to speak, he said, “The Initiative.”
Not-Ethan nodded. “I did try to warn you old man. And you see how you repaid me?”
“But you…He…” Giles clenched his fists, willing himself to be silent. This was the First, he remined himself, the orchestrator of humanity’s greatest threat. Foolish to let his guard down around it. Silence was the best recourse. No matter how bewildered he felt at the prospect of an Ethan-less world. No matter how horrified he felt at the thought of Ethan…But surely he’d escaped the Initiative? He must have done: he was a powerful warlock and they, utterly ignorant about magic. Whatever had killed Ethan, it can’t have been…
It can’t have been Rupert Giles.
“It was an accident, you know” the First continued, “Some miscalculation with the chemicals.” The apparition’s eyelids swelled suddenly and sickeningly, and its skin turned blotchy. “I’d say it was over quickly, but, well, you know me old chap: honesty is one of my virtues.” It paled beneath livid blotches.
Giles looked away quickly, rooting in his pocket for his car keys.
Not-Ethan said simply, “You did this to me.”
Giles flinched. Forced himself to say, “Not to you.”
“I thought you loved me, once. And then at the very least I thought you didn’t hate me. But then again, it wasn’t hate so much as indifference, really, was it?”
“No, it –” Giles forced himself to stop because this was the First he was explaining himself to, not Ethan. It would never be Ethan again. He forced himself to step around Ethan’s shade to get to the car, which he opened with trembling hands. Sitting down in the driver’s seat he found he couldn’t move. Couldn’t put the keys to the ignition. Couldn’t reach for the gear stick.
Ethan was dead. And it was his fault.
And other people would be dead too, if he didn’t get a move on. Giles blinked fiercely and made himself start the engine. He pulled away from the Ethan-shaped thing that stood beside the car. By now its eyes were sealed and the lips had started to puff up too. The blotchy rash had been replaced by a greyish, bloodless pale.
Giles gripped the steering wheel hard all the way to Leeds and concentrated on feeling nothing.