Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

              Buffy hadn’t seen her Watcher in a while.

              “That’s weird, right?” She asked Willow as the two were sitting outside on a picnic blanket, eating their lunches. A gentle breeze floated through the air. “Tell me that’s weird. This is the opposite of the ‘Slayer Efficiency Improvement Schedule’ he was going on about earlier this week!”

              Willow, finishing munching her sandwich, shook her head. “Nah, I don’t think it’s that weird.”

              “I haven’t even seen him in the hallways, or in the lounge, or the teacher break room.” She took a bite of a piece of cold pizza. “Wil, he won’t come out of the library stacks.”

              “At all?”

              “At all. ”

              The redhead paused. “...Okay, that is weird. And that’s coming from me. You know I love the scent of library books in the morning.”

              “I know, right?! It is very not- Giles-ey of him to not come out of his hidey hole or whatever it is and say 'hi' to his Slayer. Like, hello! I’m the Chosen One! He could at least choose to say hi!”

              After a pause, Willow had a flash of realization in her eyes. “...Sounds like someone misses their Watcher.”

              Buffy’s face flushed bright red. “N-No! God, no. If anything, it’s nice to be able to go shopping for once after school, instead of doing yet another round of, punch-the-dummy-and-pretend-it’s-Angel-so-I-hit-it-harder. I don’t mind that. It’s just… It’s weird! He goes from being on my case all the time to silence. And when he did speak, it sounded like he had the worst cold ever.”

              A sympathetic nod. “I wonder if he used his sick days after the funeral. You know. Miss Calendar’s.” Willow sped past the mention of their late teacher, clearly hesitant to think more than she had to about Jenny’s passing. (Substitute teaching was already hard enough for her, grief notwithstanding.) “And that’s why he isn’t at home resting.”

              “No way. He, like, lives and breathes work. There’s no way he’d go back home unless we made him go back home. I was ready to offer him Thera-Flu and a doctor’s note on the spot.”

              “What’d he say, anyway, that’s got you so worried?”

              The two had begun walking at that point, with Buffy carrying the picnic blanket, her lunch bag looped around one of arms. “It wasn’t what he said that worried me. It was that he didn’t even come out to greet me when he did!” Buffy tried to put on her best attempt at his English accent: “He was all, ‘C-come back tomorrow, Buffy. I’m busy.’ But, like, in the distance. The weirdest thing was, it sounded like Giles, yeah, but if he smoked 10 packs a day for a decade. His voice sounded shot.”

              “Gnarly cold, huh.”

              “Yeah. And, and, here’s the thing! He said the same thing yesterday, too!” Buffy gesticulated, almost dropping the blanket in the process, but caught it in a swift motion without missing a beat. “It’s not like the vamps have been less-than-chatty and less-than-bitey these last couple of days! If anything, I think the shitshow at the Bronze a few weeks ago riled them up. Patrolling last week was rough. ”

              Ironically enough, that had also been related to Giles. Not that Buffy could blame him for going absolutely berserk after finding Miss Calendar’s body, but…

              She shuddered. By this point, the two teens had returned to the hallways of Sunnydale High, approaching Buffy’s locker.

              “But, this week has been better, right?”

              Flatly: “Define ‘better.’”

              “Well, I mean…” They approached Buffy’s locker, and Willow moved to stand behind her friend as Buffy stowed the blanket. “Haven’t you run into mostly non-vampire demons this week? That’s probably a good thing, after… Well, y’know…”

              The cold, cruel eyes of the monster that had once been her boyfriend–who was still at large, to boot–flashed in Buffy’s mind. “...You have a point,” the blonde conceded, attempting (and just barely succeeding) to put her lunch bag on top. “Still…”

              “It’s giving you the wiggins, isn’t it.”

              Buffy nodded, shutting her locker in perfect sync with her words. “ Major wiggins.”

              “Well, Buffy, I mean, look at it this way–maybe he’s trying to protect you. You said he has a cold, right? Maybe he doesn’t want you to get sick.”

              “True.” She shrugged. “Still, I don’t think fighting a demon attacking a blood bank does a cold give. That guy was a med student, but it’s not like he threw the common cold, but on steroids right at us.” The villain had chanted something vaguely ancient-sounding and threatening, though, so maybe that was part of it? But, then, wouldn’t she have been impacted as well?

              Buffy didn’t have time to think too hard on this. “...Regardless, I’m gonna check in with him after classes end today. I mean, my Mom wanted me to ask Giles for a ride home, anyway, since she’ll be staying late at the Gallery tonight.” Her mom had mentioned something about how big the next show was for business. Buffy didn’t mind, frankly; late nights for Joyce meant less suspicion when she got home late at night after a patrol, especially if her mother had been out and about.

              “Maybe guilt at stranding you at Sunnydale High for a whole night will be enough to push him out of the shadows,” Willow joked, cracking a small smile.

              Buffy could hope.

              English, World History, and French came and went, and once the bell rang, Buffy bolted to the library.

              Upon opening the door, while there hadn’t been much that had changed since she had visited the night before, there was a book open on the large table near the staircase. Next to it, another book in what appeared to be Greek. Beside that, a book in Latin. There was also, Buffy noticed, a mangled printout of a lithograph etching. Upon closer inspection, she realized that it was the demon from the blood bank encounter earlier that week. Strange.

              Even stranger still, there was still no Giles to be found. Maybe he had left the stacks, after all. Somehow. (Not likely.)

              She sat down at the table, reading aloud what was in the text to herself: “‘A Voracity Curse.’” More like bore-acity. “‘If activated, the afflicted will experience extreme hunger, satiated only by the consumption of live flesh.’” A grimace. “‘When consuming live flesh, they will assume an aspect of the creature that has been eaten. The only way to reverse the Curse is to consume human flesh or blood; specifically, of one imbued with immense magic power.’”

              That sounded like the opposite of a good time. Still, why was Giles looking this up? Had he run out of reading material, or…? Maybe he was…?

              …No. Buffy stopped that train of thought. If Giles had been afflicted with a curse as  dangerous as this one sounded, she would have found him holed up in his apartment, trying his best to remove the carnage. Like when Ethan and Eyghon had shown up and he’d locked himself away, drinking and catastrophizing. He wasn’t at his apartment, nor was he answering his landline. So… It probably was, in fact, a nasty cold.

              She was about to ask for him, to call out and see how he was doing, but a wave of exhaustion overtook her at that moment. Maybe it was from stress, maybe it was from having her ass handed to her by the French language last period… she couldn't know for sure. But what she did know was that Giles wasn't making his presence known, if he were there, and she, for one, welcomed a nap.

              Buffy moved the book about velocity curses or whatever the hell it was that Giles had been reading about off to the side, took off her jacket, wadding it into a makeshift pillow, and rested her head upon the table, dozing off.

              The Summers girl had had a pleasant dream, considering. Something about hanging out at the mall with Willow and Xander, drinking Orange Juliuses and window shopping. Nothing too out of the ordinary, outside of when she felt something touch her shoulder, flinching hard enough in the dream that she awoke in real life.

              Her eyes shot open. There was a gentle pressure on her shoulders, yes; something soft and airy. Groggily, she touched one shoulder, finding a light blanket beneath her fingertip. Must have been Giles’ doing.

              Speak of the devil: there he was, back to her. Her Watcher was, in fact, alive. And… he was… in a tattered… Blazer… and torn… pants…?

              That wasn’t very Giles-y of him. Wait. That wasn’t Giles, was it.

              Buffy froze. Her muscles tensed. Evening out her breathing so as to not give away that she’d awoken, she waited, watching. He was turned away from her. While she couldn’t see what this Imposter Watcher (Imp-Watcher? There had to be a snappier nickname for a title like that.) frantically leafing through the large tome Buffy had read from earlier before. It was then that she noticed: this man in Giles’ suit was not only larger than Giles was, but appeared to have a snake-like tail. Something that looked like a malformed wing, sprouting from his right shoulder blade, peeked out from beneath a hole in a tattered tweed jacket. Giles’s battered tweed jacket. Which was not normally battered. If anything, he treated his work clothes like his hypothetical firstborn child. Even looking at them funny merited a scolding. He wouldn’t let himself get roughed up without a fight. (Ethan had called him “Ripper” for a reason.)

              And yet… she felt oddly safe, given the circumstances. Her gut was telling her that she wasn’t in danger, but also, the evidence to the contrary was right in front of her.

              This was not Giles. Her blood ran cold.

              As quietly as she could, as the Slayer got up, she grabbed her stake from her purse under the table—travel-sized for slaying on the go. In a swift, fluid motion, she moved behind the stranger, pinning him from behind. One arm went around his neck, restricting his air intake. Her stake was positioned at his back. The wing poked at her shoulder. It was sharp.

              The stranger flinched, frozen in place. She could hear his breath hitch in his throat.

              The girl's words were laced with venom. “I don't know who you are or what you've done with Giles, but if you’ve hurt my Watcher… You’ll find out what it’s like to be a shish-kebab." (…That sounded cooler in her head.)

              As if to make up for how lame that had sounded said aloud, she pushed the stake the tiniest bit more into the beast’s back, punctuating her threat. A pained noise followed. "Now, talk. What did you do with Giles?”

              The stranger’s voice was measured, but underscored with a subtle hint of panic. “You know, I would be far more flattered that my Slayer was concerned for my sake if she weren’t trying to kill me.”

              Buffy knew that voice anywhere, despite its slightly deeper, grow-like tone. There was only one person it could have been:

              “....Giles?”

Chapter Text

              Buffy could practically feel her Watcher’s eyes roll, even if he was facing away from her. Giles replied, exasperated: “Yes, it’s me. Now, can you please let me go? And remove the stake from my back, while you’re at it.”

              The teen lowered her stake. “Sorry.”

              “Don’t be. It was a natural reaction.”

              “What even happened? ”

              Giles stepped forward, away from her. He appeared to be making it a point not to look her way. “If my calculations are correct, I believe that medical student and his curse-casting happened.”

              “Then why am I fine?”

              A sigh. “It was directed towards me, specifically.”

              “Huh. Strange.”

              “Not really; taking out the Slayer would have been suicide. Taking out her Watcher, on the other hand… As far as plans go, frankly, it’s quite inspired.”

              “...You do not have to compliment the bad guy.”

              Giles ignored her: “He probably bet that you wouldn’t recognize me, then would have taken me out yourself, which would have caused enough emotional distress that you would have been out of commission.”

              Buffy, as Giles had talked, moved back to where the assorted documents about the Voracity Curse laid upon the table. “Little did they realize that we’d kick his ass.”

              “Right.” Rupert sounded proud of his Slayer. Still… Another thought came to him. “Well, the other option is…” A beat. “Nevermind.” Before Buffy could ask what the hell he was talking about, Giles continued: “I mean, I didn’t believe my eyes either when I…”

              “Disappeared off the face of the planet?” She glared at him. Irritation seeped through her voice.

              “I did not disappear, Buffy.”

              The Slayer gestured to him with her stake. He was still facing away from her, which infuriated her even more. “Are you sure? Because what you pulled these last couple of days was sure a Houdini-level disappearing act if I’ve ever seen one. Giles…”

              Buffy was at an impasse. Either she could be calm—objectively, the better choice—or she could ream Giles for his irresponsible behavior. What would she do…

              ...

              ...

              Ah, hell with it. Who was she even kidding? Buffy deserved to yell at Giles. As a treat.

              Breathless, exhilarating rage fueled her words as she approached him.

              “You were just ignoring everything! Willow was getting worried. Hell, I came in and you didn’t even acknowledge me! Could you imagine how it feels? Plans, down to the Watcher-y letter, then suddenly, unexplained radio silence?? After a teacher died recently?! How the hell could you think I wouldn’t worry??”

              The girl closed in on his front, only for Giles to turn away, moving to the grate covering the storage area. This was not a graceful motion; he practically tripped over his recently-acquired reptilian tail. A clawed hand shot out to catch him from falling, making a painful-sounding clang against the metal bars. He covered his face with his other hand, which appeared normal.

              Rupert growled: “Buffy, stop.”

              “No, I won’t! Think I can’t handle it?! Well, newsflash, Giles: I’ve seen much worse!! You’ve seen much worse! This is nothing!” The girl moved towards the librarian. “Why won’t you even look at me?! At least look at me as I’m yelling at you!!”

              Through gritted teeth: “It is not ‘nothing.’ I’m trying to protect you.” His fingers gripped the grate, making a small rattling sound. Giles hadn’t turned.

              As she stepped toward him, the Slayer grabbed her Watcher’s shoulder and felt him flinch at the touch.

              If anything, his reaction wounded her more than him having worried her. Still, the masked the pain with defiance; something she had become quite good at during her tenure as Slayer. “Who are you to decide I need protecting?!” 

              “Last I checked, I was your Watcher! It’s my bloody job!”

              With another growl, he whirled around to face her, still holding onto the grate with one hand. While it wasn't a swipe, as if on instinct, when she saw a hand coming her direction, she dodged, getting knocked back in the process. 

              The girl stumbled, catching herself. After taking a short, grounding breath, she collected her thoughts, firing back: “Your job is to be there for me! Not give me the cold shoulder because you think that I’m not strong enough to deal with you showing up to work with a wing and a tail!!”

              This gave Buffy the perfect opportunity to take in the sight of a partially-transformed Giles and more fully assess the damage the curse had done him. He had scales on his forehead, which matched the tail. A patch of grey-brown fur on one cheek. Based on the girl’s estimation—which, admittedly, was a bit skewed considering she was all of 5’2’’— the metamorphosis had made Rupert grow taller than normal.

              The distinctly reptilian tail was still visible when viewed from the front. She could see a bit of the malformed wing which had poked into her when she’d tried to stake him trying to burst its way out of his right shoulder blade. Its feathers were black and somewhat opalescent. While she was sure there were other features that she couldn’t account for in this quick survey, all in all, based on the notes she’d read about the Voracity Curse, it could have been worse.

              “I mean, look at yourself. You look, like, mostly like you, considering. Honestly, this isn’t bad at all! You really thought I couldn’t handle this, huh?”

              Giles’ surprise at how well she was taking it ebbed away as he stammered, defiant: “I did not think that.”

              “Really? Well, you sure fooled me!” Buffy jabbed towards him with her pointer finger as she chastised him. “I’ve seen a lot of shit, Giles, and if you’re worried that me seeing you as some kind of monster is enough to scare me away, then, frankly, I’m insulted.”

              “I was trying to protect you.”

              A small, bewildered, humorless laugh. “From what?! From seeing you… put a blanket on me???” She leaned in close to him, doing a gesture akin to jazz-hands. “Ooh, scarrrrry! ”

              “...Shush.”

              Buffy’s next laugh was genuine. “I’m just messin’ with you.” Moving away and giving him space, she returned to the study table. “Still. You don’t have to try to fix this alone, y’know. That’s kinda my thing. And you can’t be stealing my thing. Copyright Buffy Summers. I could sue.”

              That got a chuckle from Giles, who let go of the grate, then, standing upright, removed his glasses, and ran his normal-looking hand over his face in the way he tended to do when perplexed. (Not that Buffy could blame him.) “I’ve been trying to fix it. I just need…”

              “Help?”

              “...No. I just need time. ”

              Flatly: “—And how’s that been working for you?”

              Her snide comment was met by a glare. She ignored it. “Giles,” Buffy asked, hopping onto the top of one of the tables and sitting on it as if it were a sort of bench, “you remember when we had those nightmares?” He nodded. “Remember how I was a vampire in one of them?” Another nod.

              The girl kicked her legs as if she were a child on a swing, grabbing the sides of the table and leaning forward. “Remember how I refused to let you, Xander, and Wil look at me? And I was worried for nothing, ‘cuz you three still were there for me, even as a monster?”

              “You’ve made your point.” After a pause, and appearing as if he were battling himself about what to say, he sighed. “I’m sorry to have worried you.”

              She pushed herself off the table and landed on her feet with a little flourish. “And I’m sorry I tore you a new one.”

              Without missing a beat, the blonde moved to her mentor, putting a hand on his arm. She smiled.

              Giles, oddly moved, smiled back, a small fang peeking out over his bottom lip. “Right. Yes.”

              “Let’s kick this curse’s ass.”

Chapter Text

              …The real question was, how the hell would they go about kicking the curse's ass? The pair began brainstorming.

              "I've been trying to avoid eating," Giles admitted when Buffy asked this aloud. "Mostly because any food I have in here won't satisfy the curse."

              "None at all?"

              He shook his head. "It has to be live flesh. Otherwise, I fall ill." After a pause: "…Trust me. I tried alternatives."

              "What about blood bags?"

              Another shake of his head. "It has to be flesh. Blood also has to be directly from the source."

              "Hmm. How have you managed to stay… Well, y'know. Mostly-you?"

              Sheepishly: "…By trying to ignore my stomach growling."

              "Well, what could you eat?"

              "Do you really want that question answered?"

              "We're going to have to, whether either of us want to or not." Buffy paced around the room, wondering what their options were. "I mean… Okay." She stopped her anxious movement to look at her Watcher again, "Before we continue, we have to be on the same page. What the hell did you eat? Already. Let's get that out of the way."

              Giles leaned against the doorframe leading into his office with his scaled hand—now a claw. He pondered this for a moment, then, with quite a bit of shame, spoke. "…It began with a small lizard. I tried to drink some tea, but it… well, didn't stay down. The lizard did. I could… I could sense it, Buffy. Even from a while away. Could hear its heart beating. It was… entrancing."

              That sounded like what Angel had said about first being turned. —Shit. She didn't need to think of that guy. She mentally shook the thought away as Giles continued, even if the pang of pain that came with it lingered.

              "Then… A squirrel. By that point, I had arrived at campus, but the changes were somewhat-easy to hide. I could tuck the tail in behind my coat. The hand? Gloves. The fur? A hat."

              "And when was this?" Buffy cut in, trying to catalogue the list.

              Giles put his normal hand to his forehead, wracking his brain. Then: "Well, that was two days ago."

              "When you first disappeared?"

              "Yes."

              "When was the next time you ate, Giles?"

              A pause. "…Yesterday morning, early. It was a small bird." He gestured to the wing. "That was the last time that I ate as well."

              "You haven't eaten since yesterday morning?!"

              The Watcher looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "I admit, Buffy—I am quite peckish. Frankly, I can tell that if I don't try to rectify that sooner rather than later, I may…" He trailed off, shuddering.

              "Hey." The girl went toward the man. "Let's not worry about that now. Let's get you some food, okay?"

              "…I know where the food is. That is not the issue. I will take care of that after you leave."

             Buffy shrugged. "No wonder it hasn’t been working. The local pest population sure as hell isn’t the blood of someone magically powerful.”

              Now that made him straighten, standing stock-still. After a beat, he finally managed, “...How do you know about that?”

              “I can read, you know. I’m blonde, but I’m not dumb. Oh… And, you left the notes out. About the Hanger Curse.”

              “Hanger?”

              As if he were asking her the answer to a stupid question (which it was, in her view), she responded: “Being hangry.”

              “...Which means?”

              “Being hungry? Which makes you angry? Y'know. Hungry-angry. Hangry.”

              "Quite the portanteau."

              "…Uh, sure. Whatever that is."

              A small chuckle followed. “A fitting description of the Voracity Curse. Still… This will not be fixed in one night. I have to do more research, Buffy."

              "Okay, well… Lemme put it this way." The girl went to him and tapped his arm. "I need a ride home. Mom told me to ask you. Look, you may be a bit… uh…" She couldn't think of a word that encapsulated the state of seeing a close friend turning into a nightmare chimera monster, so she glossed past that point. "But, like… You can still drive. Unless you think it'd be better if I take your car and—!"

              "No." He glared. "I'm driving you home."

              She smirked. If he was still so against letting her behind the wheel, maybe Giles had some time yet before things got worse.

              When Giles had dropped her off, she couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of her chest. He was going to be fine, yes (he had to; this was non-negotiable after the shit she'd been through recently!!), but she was quite worried about how determined he was to not feed—and to not feed into the curse, by extension. That wasn't healthy.

              This thought hung over her head the entire next day, which went, more or less, well. Xander and Willow pestered her yet again about Giles. Even Cordelia, bless her, was starting to get worried. Buffy tried her best to play the role of concerned Slayer, which was made far easier in how she'd gone method for it, so to speak.

              The weekend coming made things much easier; the remaining two in her tried-and-true friend trio went off to do their own things and enjoy the sweet, sweet freedom of a Friday afternoon. Buffy, meanwhile, went back to the library. Unlike the day before, it had been closed, with a sign stating, CLOSED UNTIL MONDAY. This was not in neat handwriting. This was scrawled, panicked. Very out of character for the librarian. The first hint of true panic hit the girl.

              The door was locked. So, she knocked.

              "We're closed." The voice on the other side sounded even worse than it had yesterday.

              Another pang of panic. She collected herself. "Giles."

              "…Buffy?"

              Why the hell did he sound so scared? She shook the thought away as she replied, "In the flesh. Let me in."

              He paused, sounding as if he were actively making sure to choose his words carefully before responding, voice strained, "…I think that that may not be the best idea."

              "What? Giles, let me in. Or else I'll break down the door. And you know Principal Snyder is gonna be on your ass and mine about that. I do not need another reason to get on his Expelled List."

              A silence. Then: "I am going to unlock the door, but… Buffy, I need you to brace yourself. It's… gotten worse. I'm going to go into the grate and lock myself in."

              That could not have been good. "I mean, I can if you want, but…"

              Before she could finish her statement, she heard the click of a lock being unlocked and a clatter against the floor of what she presumed was her Watcher's limbs. Then, a clang. The sharp, metallic noise of a grate closing, and another heavy thunk from a lock being locked.

              Buffy walked in to find the entire library covered in torn-apart books, strewn notes, and scratches against one of the tables. Her heart dropped.

              It had, in fact, gotten much worse—and far faster than Buffy could have ever expected.

Chapter Text

              Behind the grate, locked up, was Giles. He didn't look any different at first, but it wasn't until she saw his hand—which had been normal the day before—that she realized that the hunger had won out yet again. To be precise, it appeared that the beginnings of a wing were starting to jut out of the side of his arm.

              Buffy couldn't tell exactly what had happened, outside of the obvious late-night snack, but she could see what appeared to be bony outgrowths, splinters off the side of his humerus, which had burst through the sleeve of his overcoat and, by extension, the shirt that he wore. Regardless, part of the membrane had overtaken the space between his arm and his torso. His face had an unholy fusion between his usual features, the scales from the day before, and the beginnings of a tiny snout. One ear had escaped the curse's wrath, but his other had become absurdly large, rounded into a leaf-like shape. A new color of fur had emerged, speckling him with gray. His teeth had morphed into a mélange of inhumanly long canines and his usual human teeth. One of these canines—more like a fang, frankly—peeked out from his top lip, akin to a vampire's.

              She looked at the arm again. Now that she thought about it… the ears, fur, and webbed limb resembled a bat. So, the state of his… arm…? Was akin to how Buffy saw, during her Biology course last semester, various mammals' skeletons mapped out. The base components were the same, but squashed and stretched to fit each species' evolutionary purpose. A bat's wing, while skewed, was a sort of hand, after all.

              But, that made sense for the bat. Not for Giles; especially not when it was making his bones break in order to do so. She wasn't a science whiz, but magic aside, a curse couldn't just... create mass. That wasn't possible. So, of course she came to the only probably solution, which was that it was slivering off bits of his bone.

              This curse had warped his body in a way that wasn't right; Buffy couldn't put her finger on why, but it was like insult to Giles's being. It was one thing to be transformed. It was wholly another for the transformation to be so haphazard that it was actively hurting him.

              She wished she could slay that vampire who'd slung the curse Giles's way again. She wished she could watch him be dusted and that this curse would go away with that whelp's pathetic excuse for an afterlife. But until then, she had to put that anger somewhere useful: the problem at hand.

              "…Was it a bat?"

              He nodded. "The miscreant was going to defecate on the books. I needed dinner. Figured I'd get two bats with one stone, as they say."

              Even when clearly struggling, he could still make a groan-inducing joke. Buffy couldn't help but be impressed.

              The two sat in silence for a moment. Then, worry saturating his words, he confessed: "Anyway. The unfortunate news is that the bat wasn't enough to tide me over like the other food has been. It… isn't sufficient for the curse anymore."

              "How so?"

              "I… I think it's progressed to the final stage. The curse."

              "What happens in the final stage?"

              He didn't respond.

              "Giles?"

              Still no reply. He appeared to be wracking his brain on how to break bad news to her. (Buffy knew that face quite well.) As he did so, she turned away—partially to give Giles a moment, and partially to go look at the notes that had been on the table.

              She did this task quickly, as they were the same as the ones she had seen the day before in the same general spot. However, they also contained an additional sheet of paper with Giles's own annotations. The notes were the usual for him — pointing out commonalities between accounts, adding a snide remark about the veracity of a source… honestly, Buffy would have been charmed by his predictability, if she weren't so concerned for his sake.

              One note, however, highlighted over and over, accompanied by a large scrawl of there has to be another way, caught her eye. She'd seen it when she first tried to check in on Giles the day before.

After a certain point, mere flesh will no longer stave off the Voracity, whereupon the only way to reverse the Curse is to consume human flesh or blood; specifically, of one imbued with immense magic power.

              Buffy gulped. Then, in an effort at levity, she turned to her struggling Watcher and quipped, "Damn. This spell makes you one hell of a picky eater, huh."

              He glared, despite his own anguish, then pointed a misshapen appendage that had once been a hand her way. "This is no joking matter."

              She shrugged. "I've died before. So what? Better to be killed at the hands of my Watcher than at the hands of the Master. I mean, it's a nice... what's the word? For when something goes against what you expect?"

              "Subversion?" He sounded pissed.

              Buffy ignored his venomous tone. "Yeah, subversion. A nice subversion, considering what happened to my first Watcher. You know…" Buffy put her hand against the grate, flashing him a sympathetic smile. "It's kinda poetic, right? In, like, a screwed up way. Your nightmare that one time was me dying. Who'd have thought this curse would make you k—"

              The girl was cut off by a loud, metallic clang. Careful to avoid the veiny membrane and nascent bone of the wing on his arm as he did so, Giles hit the grate what appeared to be quite a bit of force. He let out an exasperated, furious roar. Buffy, startled by the noise despite her Slayer instincts, managed to catch herself.

              Buffy gave him the same expression that she had had after she'd dragged Giles, fuming with vengeance for Jenny, out of the blazing Bronze. It may have been a few weeks earlier, but the memory of the metal bat he'd brought with him (as if that would have done much against Angelus) clattering to the side echoed in her brain. She'd slapped him, then, more strongly than she'd meant to. Enough for him to tumble over, looking at her numbly from the ground, cheek smarting, as her own hand stung.

              Then, she had been scared for his safety, livid that he was putting his safety in jeopardy. Less afraid of him, and more afraid of what could have become of him. But, in that moment, seeing the beast lash out, the girl couldn't hide the instinctual fear in her eyes.

              Worst of all? Giles saw. Buffy knew he saw, just because she could see the way he froze.

              The librarian looked absolutely mortified as he met her gaze. His voice cracked a bit as he said, any sort of rage in his voice replaced by pleading, "Buffy, stop."

              "No! I won't!!" The girl shook away her fear, a dogged determination blazing in her voice. "You need to listen to me. We're running low on time. To kill me would be uh… what's the phrase Xander used last week, when he was talking about The Godfather? The movie, not the book. You were there."

              Ignoring the stress he was under for just one moment, Giles responded in a flat voice. "Sorry; rhetorical question or not, even if I was there, I can't help with that. To try to comprehend Xander's incessant rambling is far above my pay grade." A surprisingly candid admission from the librarian, considering.

              "You and me both," she chuckled, which made him chuckle in turn, despite himself. It took her moment to recall, but she did eventually come up with it: "Oh yeah! A 'Cinematic parallel.' A universal rhyme."

              "Xander said that?"

              "The 'cinematic parallel' thing. Not the rhyme thing. That was all me."

              "Very poetic. Of you, I mean. Xander, on the other hand…"

              "Thanks." How sweet of him, to compliment her when he was having a full-on meltdown. She basked in the warmth the kind words gave her before pivoting back to business. "Anyway… Here's the thing. You, killing me? That isn't gonna happen. I can handle myself," the Slayer insisted. "I could fight monsters more terrifying and stronger than you—no offense."

              Giles shrugged, the misshapen bird wing jutting from his shoulder blade bobbing as he did so. "None taken." The wing, which had been tiny the first time Buffy had seen it, had become large enough that he'd had to actively cut a hole in the back of his jacket to give it space to move. This gave him an appearance akin to a dark guardian angel. Not that she'd ever say that aloud, of course.

              "Anyway. Physically speaking, I could beat you with my eyes closed."

              "You have. Many times." (The way he said this implied that he remembered the pain from these sparring sessions quite well.)

              "Exactly! Giles, I know you. If you hurt me, that's the curse. Not you. But we won't know for sure unless I unlock the grate and see what happens. Do you trust me?"

              With a nod in the affirmative, Rupert stepped away from the grate's door.

              Buffy found the key quite quickly. She took it, unlocked the door, then placed it back on its hook. Then, the girl went to the door and left it open before moving away around 10 feet, giving the beast ample space.

              He stood there, frozen in his tracks. Even though his glasses were a bit worse for wear, she could still see his bi-colored eyes, wide and worried and apprehensive. And yet… He hadn't tried to devour her whole, like he'd thought he would. That had to be a good sign, right?

              Slowly, the Watcher willed himself forward, appearing to battle something within his core at every step. He stopped, after a struggle, in front of his Slayer.

              "See?" She smiled. "I told you so. It's like I know you or somethi—"

              The girl's words were cut off by the enveloping of a swift, desperate embrace. Buffy melted into the hug, surprised to realize that her eyes had become the smallest bit damp. Giles shook slightly as he seemed to shield her to the best of his might. Two wings, cocooning her. The bird wing reached around one side, barely touching her back with its feathery tip. A bit of it brushed against her cheek; it was soft. On her other side, the monster wrapped the malformed wing arm over her, as if to guard her.

              Funny, wasn't it. Giles may have thought he was a danger to her, but in reality, in this hug, arms and wings shielding her, Buffy hadn't felt this safe in a long, long time. "…I'll definitely take this over being devoured."

              He laughed; distorted with the curse's impact on his vocal chords, but still him. Then, growing somber, he let go of her, letting her speak.

              "Why the hell were you so worried about eating me, huh?"

              "It was because… well, throughout the day, I could hear their heartbeats. The heartbeats of every single person in this building," he confessed, clearly haunted. "Before, I could only hear small animals'. But today… I had to close the library because the sound of everyone's blood was deafening. Like hearing a the flow of water when dying of thirst in a desert."

              "…I'm so sorry."

              He took off his glasses, holding them in his scaled hand and using the other claw to wipe them off with part of his bloodied, tattered tweed jacket. Looked like he was trying to release some anxious energy. "Don't be. It isn't your fault." Rupert put the spectacles back on and continued: "It is far easier to not become overwhelmed when it's just one person with me, strange as it sounds."

              She helpfully pointed out: "I imagine it's even easier when that someone hanging out with you happens to be someone who you really don't want to eat for dinner."

              A small laugh. "Precisely. I do not want to risk your safety. So, it is imperative that we find a cure, and fast. Who has magically-potent enough blood and is within the vicinity?"

              "You mean, someone who's still alive?"

              The two sat in uncomfortable silence, the loss fresh. Even if she were still alive, the two of them knew — he wouldn't have risked Mrs. Calendar's safety if he could have helped it. Anyway… it was far too late for thoughts like that, now.

              Sheepishly: "Sorry."

              "Don't be."

              Trying her best to ignore a pang of grief, the girl paced around a bit more. Walking jogged her brain sometimes, right? It was worth a shot. So, Buffy catalogued her thoughts aloud: Someone with magically-potent blood. Who the hell did they know that fit that? She wracked her brain for a while, but then the obvious hit her, full force.

              "—Me. It's me, Giles. I'm the answer!"

              "Buffy, no."

              She whirled around to face Giles. "What other choice do we have? We're getting desperate here. And, look at it this way—it's just a bit of blood. You aren't a vamp, so that makes you wayyyyyy less likely to treat me like, I dunno… A magical Capri Sun."

              "I am not drinking your blood." While his voice was sturdy and his mind was set, his stance wavered. The soul was willing, but the body was weak, as they say.

              "Giles!"

              "I'm fine." He wobbled. He wasn't a very good liar, was he?

              Buffy went to his back and pushed him towards a chair, which he just barely fit into in his monstrous state. As she did so, she said, "How much do you need?"

              He gulped. Buffy could see that the monster was salivating at the mere notion of food, but simultaneously, on the verge of vomiting due to his moral concern. An unfortunate combo. "Not much, I would hope."

              "What does that mean."

              "Well," he explained, shifting in his chair and steadying himself as best he could, hitting the winged arm in the process and suppressing a wince, "As soon as I consume living flesh or blood, the transformation is almost instantaneous."

              "Is it like when a vamp goes all fang-y?"

              "No. It may begin at that moment, but it itself is slow. This curse is known for being notoriously cruel. Not just for what it drives the afflicted to do to satiate the gnawing hunger; it makes the transformation painful and drawn out." In a far-off voice, he recounted: "I could feel each muscle snapping, each pinprick of fur or scales burning my skin, each bone breaking and re-forming. It cannot be avoided. I'm sure it will be the same in reverse."

              Buffy's heart ached for him. "…Why didn't you tell me?"

              "I didn't want to worry you."

              "Giles, for the love of all that is good and holy—which, as you know, is saying a lot, considering we're on the Hellmouth!—you're my Watcher. I'm going to worry about you if you're clearly in pain. And, on a more obvious note… Not telling me would freak me out, and you saw what happened with that yesterday. Why did you think that suffering alone, in silence, would be a good idea?!"

              "…It admittedly is not, now that you mention it."

              "Put a dollar into the 'Buffy Is Right' fund."

              He rolled his eyes. "It would have one dollar. Only one."

              "Hey! It would have at least two, and you know it." The girl huffed as the beast smirked. "I want to help you. Not just because you're my Watcher—though, that is part of it. It's because I care about you."

              He appeared oddly moved by her words. "…And I you."

              "Tell me something I don't know." She grinned. "And add another dollar to the 'Buffy Is Right' fund."

              The two basked in the pleasant moment before Giles adjusted his glasses, clearing his throat. "Fine, fine," he relented, "Another dollar. At least two dollars, indeed."

              "And another dollar. Because I was right about there being at least two dollars."

              "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Anyway." Giles stood up, beginning to pace in the way he did when he was freaking the ever-living hell out and trying to divert that nervousness. "Whether or not your blood would interact differently with me, what I described before been the pattern. I'm not sure, however, if at this point, I will need more than less. But the point still stands, Buffy: I am not drinking your blood if I can help it."

              "Why? I'm offering, for crying out loud! Is it because you're afraid? Well, news flash—I'm more scared of losing you! Is it—"

              "It's because I don't want to be the reason that you die! Again!"

              Giles's voice came out more as a roar than it had before as he ran to her, holding her by the shoulders. His tone was raw. Buffy could have sworn that his voice cracked. He towered over her, protective, yet so, so scared.

              This confession crackled electric in the air, charging the silence with an honest, terrified weight. A beat followed, after which he leaned down towards her, voice desperate: "I can't become like him, Buffy. I can't."

              The two knew exactly who he was. Buffy pictured him, standing below the sprinklers in the mall, the dim light of the movie theatre lobby reflecting menacingly as the two of them fought. She pictured his face, throwing a vampiric sneer her way, fangs bared, as she dragged her Watcher out of the burning Bronze.

              "You aren't," she reassured her mentor, her family, even if, at this point, to use that word to describe the bond the two of them shared felt almost too vulnerable and, frankly, scary. But it was the truth. The girl took her claws into her hands as best she could. "You'll never be. After all… I have your respect, don't I? You said so, after the mall, driving me home. You don't want to hurt me, right?"

              "O-Of course."

              She gave him a sad smile. "You're already better than that asshole, then. So. Please, Giles. Let me help you. To see you like this… well, that hurts a HELL of a lot more than a superficial wound. Let me give you a bit of my blood to break the curse. I'm a Slayer, anyway; you know I'll heal quick." Then, less composed: "Please. I can't afford to lose you, too."

              Rupert, after a long pause and what appeared to be quite an an internal struggle, eventually relented. He gave a pathetic, defeated nod.

              This had to work. Or else.

Chapter Text

              Rupert nodded. He bit his lip—likely in an effort to keep his composure, Buffy reasoned—and drew blood.

              "I'm the one who's supposed to bleed here," she said playfully, walking over to Giles's office and grabbing a tissue box. "Haven't we established that you can't go stealing my 'thing'?"

              A small laugh. "Yes; right. Sorry. I don't mean to be so…"

              She handed him the box. "Don't be sorry. Be Giles. Y'know?"

              This made him go quiet as he wiped away the small amount of blood on his mouth. He appeared to be finding the words he needed to say. It was easy, in that moment, to ignore the monstrous accoutrements adorning the Watcher's form. If Buffy looked past everything physically happening to him, he was, fundamentally, unchanged. So, they did have that going for them, at least. The situation wasn't unsalvageable.

              Eventually, he decided on a simple, yet not-entirely-forthright explanation of what was worrying him: "Once I consume the blood, the reversion will begin almost instantaneously. The process will take a while. That is all to say, Buffy, that I'd like some…" He gulped, clearing his throat. "Erm. Privacy, if possible."

              "Yeah. No. Not gonna happen. What if you're, like, getting your ass handed to you by the curse? What if you hurt yourself?"

              "…All right, let me rephrase it: I don't want you to see the de-transformation."

              The girl glared. "And why's that?"

              "It's going to be gruesome. You've had enough gruesome sights to fill multiple lifetimes. I will not add to that count if I can help it."

              "What's one more, then? All the more reason not to leave you alone." She walked toward him again. "Come on. Do you really think I'd just abandon you?"

              "Frankly, I was hoping for it, in this case, since we don't know just how much control I will have of my mental faculties when I—"

              "—Yeah, yeah, I get it! You're gonna be a possible danger. Big whoop." Buffy rolled her eyes, then leaned against a nearby table, using one hand to prop herself up and the other to gesticulate as she spoke. "But, like, you'll be turning back to normal, right? I don't see the problem here. You're becoming more Giles-y. If anything, you'll be more in danger than I ever would be."

              To her surprise, her Watcher didn't respond. In fact, he'd begun to look… shifty, if that was a good word for it. As if he weren't telling her the whole truth. He had begun to pace again, in that way he did when nervous and trying to figure out a solution to a problem.

              "Giles, what aren't you telling me."

              Her speaking appeared to legitimately startle him, as he let out a light gasp. (The incongruity between his monstrous state and this sheepishness was, admittedly, quite endearing.) "What do you mean?" The librarian responded with the tone of voice of someone caught in a lie and failing miserably to hide this fact.

              "Giles. We're running low on time here. Be honest. There's a catch. And you and I both know that you aren't telling me something that I really ought to know. Do you really want a second installment of the whole Master thing? When I threw a book at you, since you didn't tell me I was going to die?"

              His tail twitched in annoyance. Then, after she stared him down for a beat, he finally relented. "Okay, fine. Fine. While I haven't been lying to you—”

              “This time,” Buffy interjected, crossing her arms and tapping her foot, glaring at him.

              Giles ignored this. “—There was one source that mentioned something… worrying."

              "Which was?"

              "That, well, if the blood of one with immense magical power is consumed in the final stages of the curse, when human flesh is all that will sate the afflicted… The purgation of the Voracity Curse will be violent."

              She just stared. "…Which means?"

              "It's going to be worse than expected."

              "Ah. What else?"

              He gave her a how do you know that there's 'something else?' look before deciding to cut his losses: "…It also mentioned that consumption of a magically-powerful individual's flesh or blood in the final stages of the Voracity Curse may cause more transformation to occur, into a fully monstrous form. Once the curse has fully consumed the host in this manner, the reversion process will begin in earnest. Like a fever making one feel worse in an effort to rid the body of illness. It is ultimately good, but unpleasant in the moment."

              "So, you're saying that drinking my blood will make you even more messed up?"

              "Well, I was hoping that it wasn't true," Giles sighed, "but, yes, that's one way of putting it."

              "Is there an alternative?"

              Buffy began to walk toward the notes, only to be stopped by Giles's reply.

              "Killing me."

              The girl froze. After a beat, in a performance of confidence that wasn't fooling either of them, rolled her eyes. "Come on."

              "No, Buffy. You don't understand. That is the only other, surefire way to dispel the curse. Kill the host. It will then dissipate on its own."

              "…So, either you die and then become yourself again that way, or you're going to have to painfully transform, and then de-transform."

              "Yes."

              Oh my god. She was about to kill him. Like, in the figurative way. Not literally. They were trying to avoid the literal way. Why was he like this??

              She managed to hold back the surge of righteous, concerned anger long enough to say, in a voice as measured as possible, "Not a very efficient curse, huh."

              A sad chuckle. "Efficiency isn't the point. Pain is." He shook his head, before meeting her at the table with notes, pointing to one in particular with his malformed wing-hand. Buffy could see the highlights, but couldn't read them, as they were in French. She would have to take his word for it.

              "Still," the librarian went on, leaning in towards her and locking eyes with his protégée, the bird wing on his back rising as if it were a hand and he were trying to whisper a secret into her ear, "I am warning you now, because it seems that that one source in particular has been the most accurate about everything so far, and at this point, it appears to be that I will become worse, so to speak, before I become better."

              Buffy hoped that the sheer frustration she felt didn't drip through her voice as she grumbled, "…Because you waited too long to do anything."

              Another flick of his tail followed, which thunked against the nearest chair. "I don't appreciate the bluntness, Buffy, but, yes. I am acutely aware that I am at fault here." He straightened his glasses, putting his claw atop some of the notes, which had been photocopied and highlighted so as to not mark up the original text. (He may have been morphing into a monster, but he had standards.)

              "I am more than aware," The librarian went on, gaining speed and losing composure as he did so, "that I am even more likely, in fact, to hurt you than I would have been if I'd just accepted the inevitable and drank your blood yesterday. Do you think that I'm not kicking myself for it?! For my—my cowardice? Because I am." Grasping the paper, his fingers dug into it, the bony outgrowths of the wing jutting out.

              The two stared at each other, silent tension crackling between them.

              It was Buffy who finally spoke. "Look. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

              Rupert released his grasp on the paper. She could see, even from the slight distance, that he'd left five pinprick holes indented into the table. He walked to her—not an easy task, considering his current state—then tried his best to put his scale-covered claw on her shoulder as soon as he reached her. "No; you're right. I'm sorry."

              Any kind of anger that had been in the air completely deflated.

              She put a hand atop the kind grasp. "All the more reason for me to stay here and make sure you're okay."

              "If I…" The Watcher gulped. "If I do anything to hurt you, as this process is happening… I give you permission to stop me. Whatever it takes."

              "Well, lucky for you, that won't happen." The girl gave the monster's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I mean, we've already established that you're more a hugger than a hurt… -er." A pause. "That sounded better in my brain."

              He couldn't help but laugh a bit at that.

              "—And also? Because I said so. And as we both know, I'm right. Don't deny it."

              "…If you say so," Rupert replied with a small smile. "I'd be glad to add another dollar to the 'Buffy Is Right' Fund."

              "See? You get it!" She gave him a nod. "All right. Giles…. Let's get you back to normal."

              The two had checked over the notes one more time, finding that Giles' revised hypothesis about what would happen was, in fact, likely correct. With that variable out of the way, this then led to more practical preparations for the transformation—and de-transformation—soon to happen.

              Rupert directed his charge in collecting the materials needed. Something soft, so that he wouldn't injure himself more than necessary on the tile library floor. Buffy decided on a blanket. He'd mentioned something about needing an item to bite on so he wouldn't take a chunk out of his own tongue. (Artfully translated by her, of course.) Umm… a stake? A stake. She had at least two on hand, anyway.

              Next on her fetch quest was procuring a wastebasket, in case he were to vomit. (A real possibility, considering.) A spare change of clothes, in case his clothes didn't survive the process. Buffy was trying her best to find this for him, but admittedly, she wasn't sure what counted as a spare change of clothes for him and really did not want to rifle through his personal effects to find every piece of an outfit. (And frankly, she did not want to deal with finding a look that wouldn't offend the librarian to high heaven.) So, she just found a towel in one of the locker rooms, giving it to him with a noncommittal, "Look, I have no idea where your backup clothes that aren't jackets are, and I don't wanna look, so… If it comes down to it, I'll just close my eyes and go to the opposite side of the room, 'kay?"

              Good enough.

              When Buffy came back, she found Giles, who had moved to the table covered with notes, taking off his glasses and removing his coat. (Not that it would have done much, considering the wing had burst out of its side anyway.) After a pause, eyeing the limp remains of his sleeve on the winged arm, he looked at Buffy, shrugged, and tore it off with his claws.

             "...Fashionable," Buffy chuckled, which made the Watcher smile. The torn fabric sat on the table, next to the notes he had been writing. (Better there than on the ground, where he could trip on it.)

              Eventually, preparations had been finished. The materials were assembled. It was time for them to trigger the de-transformation. 

              The girl grabbed a pocket knife, which hovered above her hand. "Ready?"

              He nodded. She looked directly into his eyes as she walked toward him.

              With sacrament solemnity and nary a flinch, the Slayer slid the blade across her palm, making a neat slash.

Chapter Text

              The blade slid across the Slayer's palm. She felt the pain before she saw the blood, red and sure. She winced. It hurt, yes, but she'd had worse happen to her before.

              The beast must have smelled the tinge of iron instantaneously. As if on instinct, he had begun to lunge toward her, only for the girl to see her mentor's muscles lock up as he collapsed to the floor, appearing to hold himself back. She could also see the beast salivating, eyes dilated with hunger.

              Giles was fighting the curse, and fighting it hard.

              She went over to him, dropping the knife and kicking it away with her foot before kneeling on the tiled library floor. In a soft voice: "Giles. Please. Let me help you."

              He looked up at her words, eyes damp. Still, he nodded, sitting up so that they could see eye-to-eye.

              Buffy took his shoulder, steadying herself. He took her wrist and nodded back. In a motion akin to a child finger painting, she leaned in toward him and made a bloody streak across his face. She made sure to hit his mouth—now the beginnings of a small snout—and his chin.

              He tried to pull away. His body shook with the effort of fighting against what the Voracity Curse craved. However, Giles’s fang caught against Buffy's skin in this attempt, snagging it and catching even more blood from her in the process. She winced. Yet, she pushed her palm further into the monster's face.

              She had given him the cure for the Voracity Curse. Yet… The Slayer noticed something strange; he wasn't drinking the blood. No… If anything, he just sat there. Petrified.

              Putting her hand down, Buffy met the gaze of her Watcher, his face streaked with scarlet. He licked a bit of the blood that had gotten on his teeth, his mouth, and then looked at her, having the same expression as someone waking up from a nightmare. Disoriented.

              His winged arm braced him against the ground. Slowly, he put his hand on his face, pulling it away to reveal a bit of her blood. A beat followed. Buffy could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he pieced together what happened. His eyes darted down to her hand.

              Giles had the same expression that she had had when she'd awoken in that nightmare and felt the contours of her face had been morphed into a vampire's. She knew how that felt. Knew it in her core.

              He shuddered, breath shallow. "What happened?" Rupert sounded as if he were about to be physically ill. (Not that she could blame him.)

              "I helped you," she replied. "And I'm okay." The girl knelt down once more, taking his hands into her own, squeezing them tight.

              All that was left to do was wait.

              The hunger had been unbearable. Rupert knew that this was par for the course for a curse called the bloody Voracity Curse. It was on the tin, for crying out loud. But, the way it gnawed at him, the way his Slayer's heartbeat echoed in the room, the way he could hear her blood pulsing and was salivating at the prospect of drinking it… Well, that was, frankly, adding insult to injury to the entire 'becoming a malformed chimera beast' situation.

              The transformations had been painful. Very much so, and more so each time. Had he been hoping that Buffy would let him have a moment and maybe, just maybe, let him keep his pride intact and leave him be? Of course. He was a grown man, after all. A child—because, despite the weight of the world on her shoulders, that's what the Summers girl was, a child—shouldn't have had to be the one to fix his problems.

              But… That had been a common thing lately, hadn't it? First the Eyghon debacle, then Jenny (Oh god, Jenny…!), then the Bronze rampage, now this… Couldn't a man get a break? Perhaps he could, if he weren't on the Hellmouth, destined to fight the forces of evil.

              Still, he had had it coming when Buffy scolded him for waffling on doing what had to be done to get him back to normal. When his personal effects had been gathered and with the curse-negating attempt ready to begin, Giles felt nervous. Absurdly so. While his spotless track record of 'not eating the Slayer' was a factor strongly in his favor, he never knew what would happen. That was the nerve-wracking thing. Would he become yet another in a line of men who the Summers girl looked up to who had hurt her? He wasn't going to become like Nightmare Hank, or like Angelus. Not if he could help it. He'd rather die.

              If he were to kill Buffy… Well, he preferred not to think about that.

              He took off his glasses and coat, and put them on one of the library's tables—the one with the notes, it appeared, the small divots of his claws from their earlier conversation clearly visible. With a shrug, he'd torn off his shirtsleeve, feeling oddly nostalgic for his Ripper days as he'd done so. (Buffy, luckily, had the grace not to mention that at that moment—if she remembered at all, that is.)

              His own preparation aside, the pocket knife she'd acquired (more likely stashed in his pockets, knowing her) flashed in the fluorescent light of the library. They couldn't delay the inevitable forever.

              Rupert gave her a nod as soon as she was about to begin the ritual. He was ready.

              …Or so he'd thought.

              Nothing could have prepared the Watcher for the sheer instinctual force that overwhelmed his body as soon as the blade had hit Buffy's hand, broke skin, drew blood.

              The nostrils on his face—a small, batlike snout—flared. His eyes dilated, as if entranced.

              He was so hungry.

              The beast's entire form was about to spring forward and reap the rewards of the girl's kindness. It was as if Giles were watching himself, unable to control his own body. But, somehow, in the nick of time, he was able to regain control and fight back against the Curse, if only enough to stop himself from hurting Buffy.

              It wasn't pretty. His muscles ached with the effort of holding himself back. He collapsed. He writhed against the floor, on his knees. It hurt. Every single cell in his body hurt. It hurt so badly that he was no longer there, so to speak; the Curse had taken over his entire being.

              He needed this blood more than he needed to breathe. He needed it now.

              In the midst of these racing thoughts, the fact that they were alien to him, yet coming from within his cursed core scaring him half to death, the girl's voice cut through. It was soft, and so, so sad. "Giles."

              —Oh, yes. That was his name. Among many blows, the cruelest thing that this hunger had afflicted him with was forgetting that most basic of truths.

              "Please. Let me help you."

              His eyes had been screwed shut. The pain made him tear up. Yet… He looked at her, met her kind eyes with his own damp gaze, and, with all of his effort, positioned himself so that he was sitting up, his winged arm holding up steady. He felt her hand on his shoulder. Shockingly, that was enough to ground him, to keep the Curse's influence at bay, if only for a moment.

              Funny, how that was. He had to hurt her to get better, but also, she was the key to helping him retain himself through the monstrous process. He had no choice, did he? He needed to be helped. He needed to put aside his pride.

              This kind gesture on her end was enough that, even when she shoved her palm into his face, he didn't go berserk. His body, his mind, his everything was begging for him to give in and do so. To drink the blood, to devour it all.

              Yet, despite how wretched he was… he didn't.

              Any semblance of control immediately dissipated when a droplet of the Slayer’s blood hit his tongue. It was exactly what the curse—what the beast he had become—wanted. No, needed. Giles pushed back as best as he could, going still and trying not to lunge forward. He pulled himself away, falling backward.

              But, his fang caught against the skin of her palm, causing it to bleed even more. Buffy pushed her palm further into his face. More of her blood trickled into his mouth, down his throat.

              This blood… it smelled incredible. It tasted amazing. This was the best damn thing he'd ever consumed. At least, the Curse, razing what was left of his consciousness with pure ecstasy at the meal, thought so. Just what it had wanted, this entire time. Something that it could really savor. Blood of someone with true magical strength. Metallic, red, sure.

              This wasn't like munching on the fauna of the last couple of days, trying to keep the gnawing in his stomach at bay. No; that was fast food, in comparison. Barely even a meal. This, on the other hand? This was like fine dining. The serving was small, but it was rich in flavor—or, to be precise, rich in power.

              He had been so overwhelmed with these gluttonous thoughts that "Rupert" as a person was utterly buried behind the curse's influence. He didn't even notice when, deed done, Buffy pulled her palm away, smearing more red onto his cheeks like perverse face paint.

              Giles came back to his senses—and to himself—a moment later. The voice within his core had finally stopped screaming. What… What had happened?

              He must have said this aloud, since his Slayer responded in a calm, clearly relieved voice, "I helped you. And I'm okay." Her hands wrapped around his claws, punctuated by a gentle squeeze.

              The scent of iron tinged the air. Something was on his face. The librarian looked at the girl, and, seeing the wound on her hand, felt his stomach sink.

              The Curse had been fed.

              …Oh, god, he realized with a start, utterly horrified, he actually drank Buffy's blood. A cure, coming at the cost of his dignity. At the cost of his promise never to hurt his Slayer. The Watcher couldn't hide his shame.

              The girl was giving him a look that he knew far too well, a look he often wore when seeing her plight, but which felt strange to be directed at him—sympathy. He felt her hands, holding his tight. (Why was she so kind? Didn't she understand that he didn't deserve it?)

              He could feel the burning beneath his skin of the next transformation beginning. He had enough time to whisper an apology; maybe grab the stake off the floor and bite down on it.

              His voice shook with the effort of trying not to let his body betray him once more. If she were close, during the transformation… He could have such intense muscle spasms that she could be seriously hurt. Even knocked out! He had put the girl through enough. He wasn't going to risk her safety. "I'm sorry. I need you to move back."

              "Why? I, for one, don't mind some hand-holding between mutually-fated friends."

              "Look, I love gestures of familial affection as much as the next—"

              "Familial?" She sounded genuinely surprised, but not offended at his slip. If anything, her expression was… moved. Tender. He would have launched into a tirade about how of course she was like family, they were Watcher and Slayer, after all, a pair destined to fight together against the forces of evil, but time was not exactly on their side.

              Giles barreled past that comment. "—Buffy. I need you to listen to me. Stake. Now. Please."

              "No, you listen to—!"

              Why wasn't she getting it?! "It's beginning," he said, acutely aware of the urgent fear trickling into his words. "The next phase. Please, let me go."

              He must have sounded as desperate as he felt, since without hesitation, Buffy let go, stood up, and then grabbed one of the stakes that she'd laid out, handing it to him before returning back to the table. She leaned against it with both hands, peeking behind her quickly to make sure that she didn't crush the notes resting atop it.

              They were just in time, too—right as she gave him the stake, a wave of pain rocked him, knocking him forward. He gasped, grimacing, then, while he still had control over his muscles, he threw the stake into his mouth horizontally, akin to a dog holding a stick, and bit down, making sure his tongue wasn't caught in the line of fire. It was humiliating. Still. The precaution was necessary if he wanted to have a tongue, period, later that day.

              The other transformations had hurt, but this one hurt. Rupert could feel every muscle in his body shifting. Every bone beginning to break, raring to rearrange itself. The red-hot scalding of fur and scale and who knew what else getting ready to burst through his skin and erase any sign of his humanity.

              That was all he could register before, all-ablaze, all-agony, he lost any semblance of himself and the final stage of the curse took hold.