Archive of Our Own ^beta

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        “Is it too late to fake my own death?” Maybe it’s kind of pathetic, but Xander has a new appreciation of the fear demons must feel facing Buffy. Though they don’t have to deal with being forced to go shopping of all things.

        Buffy is...obviously not impressed as she looks him over, glance implacable and uncaring of his fate. “This would go a lot easier if you stopped whining.”

        He trails behind, dragging his feet, as she walks to another row. It’s absolutely mortifying, but he can’t just wish money into the air by hoping really really hard. (Well, probably, he can, but not without consequences and he’s getting kind of sick of consequences at this point.) “Depending on how expensive you go, I…” God this is hard. “I probably can’t pay,” he mumbles, but fortunately her Slayer hearing catches it anyway.

        “You should have thought about that before making the bet,” she tells him, voice lowered a little so as not to completely humiliate him. Then, she adds a little louder, “...It’s not like I was thinking about making you pay, anyway. It’d be pretty unfair if you lost and then I made you spend a buttload.”

        “I have also,” the British guy who isn’t even trying not to come off like a sketchy villain, unlike Giles, announces to the entire store for no apparent reason (well, maybe to the mom who appears to be trying to haggle, but still, that feels targeted, though maybe it’s just been that the day has been crappy and he’s looking forward to getting to gorge himself on chocolate and forget any of this ever happened) “...been known to offer discounts.”

        Xander crosses his arms and resigns himself to his fate as Buffy holds up a black mini-cape, eyeing him speculatively.

        “You can stop looking mortified. This isn’t to make you look ridiculous.” So she says. Xander doubts that very much.

        “I dunno, a cape? You’re not even going for a superhero,” he argues. At this point, he might just be arguing for the sake of it, at this point.

        “What, you’re cool with forcing other people into spandex but can’t take it?” Duh, the answer should be obvious, and he’s half convinced it is and she’s just mocking him, but it’s not like he can just leave that, either.

        “Yeah, on people who would look good in spandex,” he hisses, and Buffy actually has the gall to look surprised. She shrugs that off pretty quickly, though.

        “I happen to know someone who would disagree with you, but she happens to like uniforms more.” Xander’s reaction is delayed, mostly because his brain takes a moment to even register the idea that someone might like him.

        “W-wait, what? Who—” She shoves the black outfit she’d been looking at into his arms, derailing him slightly. Probably on purpose.

        “I am sworn to secrecy, on account of it being a secret admirer and everything. She heard about the whole soldier plan, was less than enthusiastic, and I stepped in.” He doesn’t, for once, have anything to say to that, too confused, and she looks pleased with herself.

        “We should grab a hat, too,” she decides, veering off into another aisle before stopping midstride and glancing at his feet. “Maybe also shoes.”

        He sighs. He knows she volunteered to pay, but he’s still starting to feel a little guilty about this anyway. “If you’re just thinking fancy black shoes, I’ve got some from a cousin’s wedding a couple years back. Dad actually bothered spending money on that because he hadn’t gotten fired yet and was sucking up to that branch of the family in the hopes of being remembered in somebody’s will.” They don’t fit perfectly; he’s grown since then. But they still fit his feet, he’s pretty sure.

        Her side-glance at him isn’t pitying but it hurts all the same. “Your family has issues,” she states bluntly, and he tries not to laugh hysterically.

        “Uh, yeah, I know. Preaching to the choir here, Buff.” Fortunately, the shopkeeper and Buffy ignore him when he jumps when the guy appears behind them. It’s just customer service. There’s no need to be so jumpy.

        “Can I help you find anything?” Yeah, see, just ‘cause most things are out to get you in Sunnydale doesn’t mean everyone is.

        “Most Japanese school uniforms have hats or something, right?” Buffy asks brightly and—huh. That’s the most she’s let slip. A school uniform, though, really? He considers that quietly. Sure, maybe he gets the appeal of a nice skirt, particularly a short skirt showing off a girl’s legs, but...if everybody’s wearing the same thing, you can’t judge as much about a person by their clothes, and honestly, variety’s pretty nice, too.

        “Not all of them do, particularly in this day and age, but that particular set is more old-fashioned, so yes, I do believe it would look better with a cap. I have a small selection, particularly of the less flashy variety, which is a better match as it is.” Hats aren’t really Xander’s thing, but he can manage it for one night. And he’s not judging, exactly, it’s just...different. Not what he’d go for, for sure, but that’s not always a bad thing. Mostly, he’s just intrigued, which Buffy knew he would be. Whatever shy girl has a crush had a really good idea approaching Buffy, because she definitely knows what she’s doing.

        “A perfect finishing touch suddenly occurs to me.” And then the guy produces what looks like a holster with vials.

        Buffy and Xander exchange glances. The weirdness in Sunnydale, it never ceases to spread. “Uh. A chemistry student?” Yikes no thanks. Unless Buffy goes for it. It’s her call, but given the look on her face, she’s not going to go for it, either.

        “I once heard a story about a Japanese student who saved Tokyo in the year Taisho 20. Preposterous, as that year never actually existed, but what young hero doesn’t want to save a city using magic?” Magic tubes. That’s a new one.

        Unfortunately, by a look at the Slayer’s face, she’s getting persuaded by that. “Magic tubes, though?” Xander has to voice his skepticism or she might give in.

        “And a sword and gun, I believe,” the shop owner adds in smoothly, and Xander’s face must give everything away, because Buffy grins.

        “We’ll take them,” she agrees.

        “Right this way.” Ethan (probably, given the shop name) leads them toward the front, and fine, if Xander has to get some weird magical tubes, a sword and a gun are the least he can demand for going along with all of this. Even if they ran out of guns. At least he gets to pick a pretty cool sword.

Chapter Text

        Raidou Kuzunoha the XVIII opens his eyes to a scene of complete and utter chaos. It’d be understandable if this was the Dark Realm, although so many civilians having been pulled into the spiritual world overlaying the normal reality they lived in would require a demon of such power that...well. It’d be concerning.

        And then he winces, watching a zombie lurch after a crying child in a fast if limping gait, brains spilling from its skull, and amends that statement. This is obviously concerning, because pulling this off in the normal world is no joke, either, and he’s only recently been appointed, too. He’s no Fourteenth.

        It’s not the Dark Realm, though. He’s only visited once, to get a feel for the place, and this clearly is not the same place, what with a lack of a Dragon Cave to anchor his being, or any signs of Dragon’s Gates constructed (likely by a wayward Ippon-datara) to make traversing the demons’ world more difficult, or by the lack of strange colors tinting the entire area.

        “Xander!” It’s some relief, in all this chaos, to hear a recognizable voice. Gouto’s somehow disappeared, too, which is more of a concern than it might appear, since an enemy actually pinpointing a black cat as the more seasoned and likely dangerous of the two (despite the lack of opposable thumbs) is a dangerously well-informed foe indeed.

        He turns to the spirit with a relieved smile.

        “Xander, it’s me, Willow. Do you, uhm, do you know who I am?” She doesn’t pause for breath, but he’s become accustomed to that since their introduction.

        “Of course I know you, Willow. Do you know what’s going on?” He puts a hand on the sword, eyeing the Reaper, of all things, in the distance. It hasn’t noticed them yet, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to retreat if it does. He’s not ready for a Fiend, yet.  He'd help the child, but some sort of spider demon he can't identify seems to have picked a fight with the zombie, allowing the civilian to escape.

        She relaxes. “I...I don’t know, but everyone’s turning into their costumes.” She looks down and mumbles, as if embarrassed, “...I did. I don’t know why you’re fine.”

        He frowns. That statement makes no sense on the face of it. True, unlike most ghosts she appears to have been able to change her clothing, but otherwise she still appears exactly as she always has. He doesn’t get the opportunity to question her further, because instincts honed from long, uncomfortable training at the Kuzunoha Village sense movement behind them that the spirit seems not to have noticed. He barely has the time to draw his blade to block the ninja’s sai seeking his throat.

        “Holy shit,” Willow breathes from behind him, but he has to act fast, throwing himself backward against the force of the ninja’s weight, to avoid being disarmed.

        He grits his teeth. “I’m not sure if he can harm you. Stay back.” He doesn’t have much in the way of supplies, but on the other hand, if he doesn’t summon a demon soon, he might well join Willow in the afterlife. He didn’t pass the trials only to fail now. His gun has disappeared just like Gouto, and while it’s only a single ninja now, it’s chaotic enough that the situation will hardly contain itself. He may as well go for his strongest demon right now, even if he’s not fully loyal. He takes out one of the Tubes, muttering the spell to release Žiburinis, the Tube slowly unscrewing itself and letting out the green light of the Mag within before bursting forth in a bolt of that same energy.

        “I bring terrible vengeance,” the skeleton intones, deep voice a death knell, flame of the candle in its chest flickering wildly.

        Willow, off to his left, gasps. At least she’s backed away from the fight, like he’d asked. “Xander, is that a demon?” That’s...a really odd question to ask a Devil Summoner. Is she all right?

        And, another oddity...the ninja apparently happens to be one of those who can see demons, because rather than continue the fight he merely melts away into the night. Which allows this Raidou Kuzunoha to catch his breath.

        “Disappointing, but to not fight a Žiburinis shows some judgment.” The skeleton stretches, candle flame dying down until only its bones are glowing.

        “I appreciate your help anyway,” he responds, because some demons appreciate manners more than others, and it chuckles, deep and unnerving.

        “Any who would pick a fight with a Kuzunoha have more courage than common sense.” Sure, perhaps he should reconfine the demon, but it wouldn’t hurt to get Žiburinis more power and loyalty, and he really doesn’t feel like resummoning him every time, particularly when he’s already low on supplies including Mag. Besides, if there’s others that can actually see the demon out, maybe they’ll be less likely to pick a fight.

        “I thought you answered to ‘Xander’,” Willow states accusingly, and he glances over to see she’s glaring, hands on her hips, like he’s in trouble for...something.

        And he doesn’t even know what it’s for. This time. Though maybe he’ll get some answers by answering this question, because she’s been acting oddly. “I do. That is the name I was born with. I am also,” (but surely she knows this already) “...known as Raidou Kuzunoha the XVIII, protector of Sunnydale.” She just stares at him, rather than looking suitably impressed. Or like she’s heard that combination of words ever before. Which is odd, because the Herald specifically stressed that she was an ally of the Yatagarasu.

        And then she mutters “oh brother” under her breath, considering where to start before she begins her explanation, and it’s clear that he’s in for an adventure like one of his predecessors. He can only hope he lives up to the expectations.

Chapter Text

        On one hand, it’s a lot to take in. It’s interrupted occasionally by the need to intervene with the occasional civilian rescue, though fortunately that mostly consists of Žiburinis charging the offender or, when it becomes clear that they can’t see him, setting them on fire. He’s behaving himself in general, though that might have to do with the fact that he’s enjoying every moment.

        It’s irritating Willow, apparently. She looks concerned about the fact that he’s just letting his demon do what he wills, despite him keeping a pretty close eye on what’s going on, and the fact that he’s not giving all of his attention to her. For his part, he’s slightly concerned that they’re not walking and talking—nothing’s going to get fixed if they just stand around, here. But Willow doesn’t seem interested in that, so they’re at a standstill, figuratively and quite literally, as she tells her story.

        There’s another reason he’s not dealing with all this so well, and that’s because of a specific fault he’s had for years. He’s been scolded again and again for letting his mind wander, for being unable to sit still, and he’d learned, but it still wasn’t exactly his forte. It’s lucky the uniform has a cape, so he can occupy himself with playing with the edge of his cape and the hilt of the sword at his side.

        It’s impossible to say for sure that absolutely none of this works the way he’s been taught, because from the sound of it Willow (who is not, as it turns out, usually a spirit; today apparently happens to be an exception) doesn’t actually know a lot about magic or demons. What she does know suggests that his demon summoning is impossible or highly irregular.

        One woman fighting all evil, on her own? That sounds incredibly...lonely, as odd a thought as that is—but then, even a Kuzunoha doesn’t fight alone, despite the duty falling to the Summoner with the title. The Yatagarasu, unlike this ‘Council’, made sure to maintain a network of agents and allies, even if their heaviest hitters were the Kuzunoha.

        On the other, he’s paid attention to details recorded about past holders of the title. Previous Kuzunoha have traveled between dimensions, though traveling back was incredibly difficult and a sending ritual, as far as he can recall, wasn’t involved. It’s more like his mind, memories and all, was sent into the body of another version of himself, residing in a different world. There’s...hazy spots, oddities, now that he’s paying attention. Such as, what would the Yatagarasu want with such an out of the way spot, so far from Tokyo? True, there’s a power and demons in plenty here, but would they really have sent him (a Raidou, even!) to Sunnydale, California? But, again, there’s also the possibility that his memories are blending, as two souls fight for the same body. Which leaves several questions, such as whether he is defenseless back there (or whether the Yatagarasu would even permit a Raidou to be out of commission for an extended period of time) or whether he is, in fact, some sort of magical construct or doppelganger formed from the memories of another, yet wholly and distinctly separate. If Gouto were here, he could probably instruct Xander as to some sort of ancient ritual to determine the truth, or would even know himself with simply a glance, but it’s probably safe to say that he did not make the transition as well, and so Raidou does not have the ability to consult his teacher.

        She ends the story with an impassioned plea. “Please, you have to believe me!”

        “I do.” She stares at him incredulously, and he shrugs. “I mean, sure, it changes things in the long run, but for now I’m still an heir to the Raidou Kuzunoha name with a duty to protect the people, so that’s what I’m gonna do. What, do you really expect me to just say ‘this isn’t my problem’ and walk away?”

        “N-no.” Her denial isn’t especially believable, which hurts, but he’ll just pretend he hasn’t noticed.

        “What’s our next move? We could keep saving civilians, but it won’t do much about the source.” He might currently have eight tubes, but he’s only confined three demons. Perhaps he should’ve poked around the Dark Realm more. “It’d be one thing if I had a Wind Order demon to scout around, but…”

        She looks even more disturbed, which remains frustrating; he wants to stay on the good side of his single ally thus far, but he’s also largely useful with his skills with demons. It’s the whole point of being a Devil Summoner.

        “Why don’t we just try to find Buffy?” she suggests weakly, and he sighs, pulling on the brim of his hat to shield his eyes. If he knew what he was doing, than with or without her permission he’d be charging out there, but as such he doesn’t have that valuable insider knowledge, so following her lead might still be faster in the end. No matter how annoying it is to have to be practically groveling to do his damn job. He’d undergone all the trials, years of training, knowing that if he failed, it was death, earned the treasured name Raidou, all for this? To be dismissed—no, worse than that, treated like he’s the unreliable one?

        Yet, after all, he is only a teenager, no matter his title or status. And it’s not like any of the history meant anything to her. He could protest, attempt to tell her the stories of past Kuzunoha, but—there’s very little point. It would read as defensive, which it is, and he couldn’t even deny that. And it’s clear she doesn’t believe his world or memories or person are real, at all, merely fabricated through magic, and he has no way of proving her wrong (if she even is wrong, in the first place). Even if she believed him, this is the first incident he’s had to deal with, so it’s not as if he has any stories about his own exploits to reassure that he is capable.

        But—hmm. Maybe there is something he can do, after all. He’d jumped straight to demons and dismissed the bread and butter of the detective—reasoning and legwork. “You said that we were escorting trick-or-treating kids,” he responds, readying himself to spring into action.

        Willow looks startled. He’s beginning to feel very sorry for the Xander of this world, if her expectations of him are truly this low. “Uh...yes, but…”

        “Have you seen any of the children nearby, or what they might have turned into? Were we supposed to be patrolling different areas of the city?” If they could narrow it down, that would help.

        “O-oh! The troll mentioned something about that, uh—follow me!” Finally. Though why is it so strange that he summons demons when she’s out here conversing with trolls?

        “Žiburinis,” he calls out, and the demon returns from where he’d been terrorizing a mummy and small dinosaur faithfully, rather than hesitating, which is a pretty good sign.

        “Let’s go!” he encourages her since she’s frozen a little, and then they’re off.

Chapter Text

        Unfortunately, they’re required to pause their run briefly—the shoes are a little tight, so, with Willow looking on utterly nervously, he has Žiburinis apply a little fire to the outside for once. He’s not particularly worried about it, given that he can switch to Nix at a moment’s notice should his demon make a mistake and burn him, but trying to point that out doesn’t seem like something the temporary ghost would like, anyway, and the demon looming and looking rather intimidating doesn’t seem to be helping matters.

        “It has been centuries since I have been so trusted,” the flaming skeleton intones like it’s some weighty secret.

        “Everyone deserves to be trusted, because that’s how you get to know someone’s true nature. If they’re the type to take advantage of that trust, you’ve learned something very valuable.” Of course, it’s not something to be extended right away, to someone you barely know, not unconditionally. But it is often one of the better ways to test intentions.

        “I have enjoyed serving you, Summoner. May our partnership be long and fruitful,” Žiburinis announces, the stream of fire dying away. It had gotten a bit uncomfortably hot, but it’s not like he hasn’t had to walk over coals barefoot before. He suspects that one was meant to be a test of endurance, but can’t verify that for sure. Compared to that, this was nothing.

        He wiggles his feet in the shoes, one at a time, and yes, it’s just about right. Not perfect, but they don’t have the time to be wasting on this. He can properly run now, and that’s what matters.

        A ghostly touch on his arm makes him look up, and that’s not distrust or disbelief or any of the other emotions he’s seen from Willow thus far. It’s sympathy tinged with a little bit of guilt. “I hurt your feelings, didn’t I?”

        One could say that his gob is very smacked, because what the hell, that hadn’t been what he’d been expecting at all. And this time, the feeling is strong enough he can almost guarantee he’s not the only one for whom this is a shock, like they’d all go years without apologizing or even acknowledging the harm they’ve done to each other. (Which makes him wonder: maybe her disbelief earlier had been warranted, maybe he wasn’t the best of people after all.)

        He takes a deep breath. “You don’t even know me, so I shouldn’t take it to heart.” As he says it and her face falls, he realizes that this, too, sounds like an excuse, a justification, that tells her the truth, but honestly what he’d been trying to get across was that she’d done nothing wrong. “I shouldn’t have a tantrum. This is going to happen; I’m a teenager who has taken up the mantle of Raidou Kuzunoha, and even Fourteenth had to deal with skepticism. I won’t get anywhere demanding people take me seriously. I need to demonstrate with action.”

        “I got so caught up in thinking you weren’t Xander I wasn’t paying attention to the fact you were.” It’s a nonsensical statement and he’s very tempted to point that out, but she just narrows her eyes as if she can tell what he’s thinking and waggles her finger at him.

        “Don’t argue with me; we’ve been friends since we were kids and even if you can’t tell I can.”

        “Yes ma’am.” The response is automatic and much stronger than he feels. That’s fair enough, Raidou supposes; if she’s got the side-by-side comparison she’s probably a better judge than he is. Still, they’re not going to get anywhere like this, so he decides to change the subject entirely. “Race you!”

        She splutters a bit, but it isn’t long before he can feel her hot on his heels, just like the rhythmic creak of bones behind him.

        It does appear that she trusts the Xander she knows enough that she doesn’t immediately have a panic attack when they find their friend changed and crying about a car demon (Oboroguruma? that’s...also a little out of the scope of Raidou’s abilities, right now…) and he instinctively asks Žiburinis to ignite her. She does freak out after the fact, though, but fortunately between the fact that Buffy apparently can’t see Raidou’s demons and the fact that she is now giving them all sorts of orders about how they’re going to fix this situation and then maybe conquer the land, she’s too busy to notice them conferring.

        “What did you do?” Willow whispers loudly, eyeing Buffy—er, Her Grace Buffy—with some amount of alarm. She’d seen the ring of fire form around her but not harm her.

        “I figured, since she was so scared, igniting her spirit might be the way to go.” He pauses. “I think that might have been a mistake. I could cool her down?” Though he’s never tried using Encantado’s abilities after Žiburinis’ and isn’t sure what would happen if he does.

        “We...probably shouldn’t try that, no,” she decides, probably worried about side effects, too. “Your Grace, maybe it’s a good idea to start small, with a single house maybe?” She’s got something in mind, which is good, because Raidou’s out of concrete ideas. It’s not like just running around the town heedlessly, even if it looks to be a small town, will get them anywhere fast.

        Duchess Buffy considers briefly and then nods. “I want only the best of castles, but clearly locals like yourselves will know of a spot befitting of my status. We can plan my campaign there, and you will be rewarded with ranks and rewards according to your efforts in my name.”

        Willow takes the lead again, though Her Grace insists on stopping and saving every civilian on the way, and some of them (and the transformed Not-Civilians, including more than one superhero, a few Jedi, an interesting looking vampire with a hat, and more he can’t name) end up joining their ranks, to the point Raidou starts to feel concerned about whether they’ll even all fit in a house. Actually getting an army like merely willing one into being is enough to have an effect certainly isn’t helping the Duchess’ delusions of grandeur, but then, maybe she’s every bit as real as he is, or maybe they’re all delusional. It’s hard to say, really.

Chapter Text

        It’s pretty obvious all of Duchess Buffy’s fighting instincts haven’t disappeared, because she has an instinctive grasp on strategy, patrolling, and the like, unleashing them in a flurry of orders. He’s starting to suspect that, contrary to Willow’s speculations, it’s not that she didn’t want to be involved in the whole fighting business anymore, merely that she didn’t want to be doing everything herself for a change, which is understandable, if she’s been treated for years like it’s her sole responsibility to fight by herself. Her earlier fear of the ‘unnatural’ also seems to have entirely vanished, though she did insist on borrowing his sword and knighting everyone, which has him mulling over whether ‘Sir Xander’ or ‘Sir Raidou’ is more appropriate.

        This does mean that he’s not out sweeping the streets, though, just sitting around bored and twiddling his thumbs. Again. He wasn’t able to convince the vampire to lend one of his guns, the sword is in Buffy’s hands now, and with his demon also occupied, the best he can do is lean against a wall and try to look pretty.

        “Are you...blushing?” Willow’s voice makes him jump, but then, she’s caught him off guard by floating through the wall, so that (and her unseen observation of him) were probably on purpose.

        “I—no.” All he’s doing is denying things around her! And as she eyes him, he gets the idea he’s actually lying, even if it’d been unintentionally.

        It’s...not that weird, he reasons. As demons go, Nix and Encantado are very attractive, and luring humans is an important part of their repertoire. Usually women and men, respectively, but not all demons are quite so...focused, between type and individual, and the flowing shimmering mane glimmering like a waterfall, the sleeveless jacket and courtier clothes in blues that reflect the beauty of a river, the rippling muscles and slim frame and endlessly blue pools of eyes...surely anyone would find that attractive, right? Particularly when all he’s been allowed to do is stare at the demon smilingly and cheerfully healing one of Buffy’s new army or subjects after the other and murmuring compassionate reassurances in a melodic voice, whether or not they can hear him. It’s really kind of sweet. His mind hadn’t even gone in the direction of calling him a stallion (because Nix are technically water horses and...yeah, it’s not one of his best lines) until he’d been confronted.

        “At least he doesn’t have his violin or they’d be too distracted swooning to get anything done.” The ones who can see him, anyway. He inclines his head toward several poring over a map and strategizing, while her Grace continues going through and knighting a line of people. They’re very orderly.

        And then, through the ambient chatter, the sound of knocking on the door, making everything else disappear as his focus narrows.

        “Sir Raidou, your blade!” Duchess Buffy throws it, scabbard and all, in an almost perfect, nearly effortless arc, smacking satisfyingly into his palm, back where it belongs. He draws it in one swift, fluid motion, which draws the eyes of many in the room. Perhaps he’s showing off, but so is she.

        And then there’s a cool, gentle hand on his arm. “I have finished here; the rest have injuries but minor in nature. I will come with you, Raidou.”

        He nods and approaches the door cautiously, again accompanied by demon and ghost, though if he’s not hearing things he could’ve sworn he heard another ‘oh brother’ from Willow. Though it’s not as if he has the time to dwell on it in the first place.

        It’s unlikely that an enemy managed to slip through, even if the plans and barricades were hastily constructed. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be cautious. “Password,” he calls out, sword in hand, Nix ready and waiting to freeze an intruder at his side.

        “Swordfish, right? You’re not clever or original, Xander Harris.” The woman’s voice at the door sounds extremely unimpressed.

        Well, she doesn’t sound hostile. A bit snooty, maybe, but as long as she means no harm, she’s just the sort of person they’re trying to protect. He reaches for the doorknob and a ghostly hand grabs his.

        “That’s Cordy,” she hisses, venom in her voice, and he stares right back at her, unmoved and stern.

        “Is whatever she’s done so great a sin that we should just leave her to die, then?” he asks mildly, and her hand instantly lets go of his as she stumbles back a little, horrified.

        “Um, but, well, I—” That’s a no, he decides, and opens the door without further ceremony.

        “It’s about time,” the teenager—about their age, he guesses, which would probably equal familiarity which could then explain the hostility—announces, walking in like she owns the place. Her cat costume is ripped and revealing, but she definitely sounds like she knows who she is more than he or Buffy do, at the very least. Between his own eye for wounds (that’d been part of the training) and a glance at Nix, who shakes his head surreptitiously, despite the bit of blood none of those holes in costume or human look in urgent need of treatment. “Speaking of which, do you ever plan on fixing this? Some of us have social lives to be getting back to.”

        “If you have some sort of strategic target for us, please, do share,” Her Grace’s voice cuts through the air of the room, delightfully frostily polite.

        Cordy snorts and crosses her arms, the very picture of ‘holier than thou’ she’s attempting to convey—and yet, it’s just a picture, because it’s flawed. She might be fooling Willow, but the movement was actually to try to hide the slight tremble in her arms. “Look, if you want me to use your brains for you, too—” she begins, and between his own rising irritation, Nix’s amused nod, and the need to save her life before Willow decides to try a good old Poltergeist strangulation, Raidou waves a hand, dismissing Nix and already summoning Encantado in his place.

        “What—did you do?” She’s a good deal calmer about it, even if she still isn’t happy. From the way she’s glaring at Encantado next to him, cheerfully mischievous beneath the pink Panama hat as her long dolphin’s tail unfolds beneath the colorful dress, she can see demons, which is a little fascinating.  Thus far, most of the so-called ‘normal’ people haven't been able to see a thing.

        “Seems someone just needed a little dip in the river, hmm?” she suggests, laugh sounding just a little like a dolphin’s.

        “You were saying?” he asks, ignoring his demon posing elegantly in the air as if it were water, putting what’s visible of the pale skin on display. He also ignores the implied threat of drowning. Neither of his most loyal demons have exactly learned charm spells yet, and both have chosen to be better than the worst of their kind, but that changes nothing about their natures.

        “I won’t forget this.” It’s hard to tell if that’s a threat or a warning. “Maybe it’s targeted. I saw Aura, and Harmony called me, and both of them were just fine.”

        Hmm. That’s worth a jot in his detective’s notebook. One of the Jedi uses the Force to add it to the list on one of those giant pads of paper someone had for some reason. Show-off. Still, if it helps them narrow this down before anyone gets hurt, then maybe it’s just fine.

        “Well, welcome to the castle. Her Grace, the Duchess Buffy, commandeered the fridge and the entire bowl of candy, so if you get hungry feel free, though you’ll probably have to swear fealty. I think there’s a pot going around to pay her back afterwards.” He gets the feeling Cordy is trapped between disgust and laughter.

Chapter Text

        “What’s got you all mopey? You got what you wanted.” Cordy’s one of the last people Willow wants to hear right now, but then, apparently she’s completely fine with hanging out in the kitchen rather than going in to the relative safety of the living room. Maybe she’s just more comfortable pretending that she’s not actually relying on them for anything right now, or being seen in the company of most of the people in there.

        “Commence the mocking,” she spits back, sick of it. Sick of all of this. Buffy had convinced her it’d been a good idea, but obviously it wasn’t working out any better than anything else she’d tried.

        “I’m pretty sure the pirate that found me was going to have his way with me and then leave me for dead,” Cordy states bluntly, and—yikes.

        Just like everything else she says, that’s not the kind of thing you just go and say out loud.

        “...Why are you telling me?” It’s not like the Queen Bee to be vulnerable and give out blackmail material.

        She shrugs. “Not that it’s going to last, but I gave my oath back there. I might be a little in shock.” Because she hadn’t believed in the supernatural, and now she’s been in danger and gotten absolute proof it’s real. “Everything will be normal again tomorrow, but there’s a truce now.”

        And for the first time, Willow’s forced to grudgingly consider that Cordy actually might be decently good at this social stuff, rather than just having lucked into it through being rich or whatever, because she knows there’s no way Willow would believe her from just a normal promise, so she just goes and hands over a juicy secret. It’d be easy to think that Cordy’s stuck up enough not to even think she might be a target, but that can’t be it, either. More than anything, she has to know how precarious all this is, how hard you have to fight for status. There’s no magical immunity from the viciousness that is high school drama. Gossip is the juiciest about the ones with the farthest to fall. “How’d you know?”

        “What, the whole school uniform schtick? Please. Kind of a giveaway, Rosenberg. That’s not the kind of ‘uniform’ most girls think about.” Cordy pulls out a chair and slowly sits, and after questioning what the hell she thinks she’s doing, Willow joins her. Sitting is weird, but then, doing anything as a ghost is weird.

        “I just…” Trying not to cry is a lot harder when Cordelia Chase of all people is looking sympathetic.

        “The pretty demons are a problem, huh.” And sounding sympathetic, too.

        She puts her head in her hands and startles slightly when there’s a comforting hand on her arm all of a sudden, too, even if it’s a little weird because hey, ghost. Because she doesn’t want to say the worst thoughts out loud, the ones that crawled out of a swamp somewhere inside her she didn’t know she had, because she’s jealous, sure. Jealous they’re so pretty, jealous that he’s falling in love with demons again and not her. But there’s a certain ugly part of her that actually kind of wanted to watch.

        She’d kind of taken it out on him, lashed out in the hopes of humiliating him, but watching him watch Nix fondly, with a blush, had put thoughts in her head, too, about the demon gently, reverently, with a steady stream of praise and endearments and reassurances, holding Xander down and having his way with him as Xander begged. Of Encantado’s flipper changing into a very pretty set of legs and pulling her dress up to ride him hard until he screamed. Xander, helpless and vulnerable and at the tender mercies of demons, and she wouldn’t lift a finger to help even if he wanted it.

        They’re Bad Thoughts, Thoughts of the Bad, and now that they’re here they won’t go away. And the thing is, ugh, they’re both really pretty and she wouldn’t mind if they turned their attention on her next, either. Or maybe at the same time. She’s never noticed another woman like this, and maybe the excuse is just that they’re demons and that’s how demonic seductiony stuff works but she can barely think.

        And it’s even more unfair because Xander was affected, obviously, but the instant stuff started happening and he had to be ready for it, he just was. And yeah, okay, maybe some of this is magical cheating, because he acts like he’s been working with the two of them for a while so maybe he’s gotten used to it, but still.

        “I didn’t get the power to read minds, or whatever,” Cordy’s voice interrupts her thoughts as she’s just rubbing reassuring circles on Willow’s arm, which could be a Bad Touch, too, except it’s just reassurance and she needs to get a grip. “So you gotta use your words. I know you’ve even got a bunch of them.”

        “I don’t want to.” It comes out surly and childish and more than anything else other than stopping thinking about any of this, Willow wants to take them back.

        Cordy sits back, taking her hand with her, and Willow feels somehow more cold. She starts on one of the chocolate bars. “If you had thoughts that led to an orgy, maybe, I’m pretty sure you’re not the only one. With the way Xander was blushing he’d thought about it.”

        Willow muffles her scream in the table, and Cordy waves off the Wonder Woman that comes to check and make sure no one’s getting murdered. “I knew it, you are one hundred percent evil, what is wrong with you putting stuff like that in my brain?” Maybe she should just merge into the table. She can do that. She’s a ghost now. All those thoughts about the ground swallowing her? Those are no longer fantasies.

        Cordy rolls her eyes, and yeah, it’s all just a lie that Queen C was doing anything other than feigning sympathy. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting.”

        ...Huh? Willow glances up and stops phasing into the table.

        “Puh-lease, you think I don’t get horny? Newsflash, honey: liking sex, masturbation, whatever, that’s all perfectly natural. I mean, I don’t get why Xander of all people, but I guess everybody’s got to have someone who thinks they’re hot. And on a completely different note I guess Buffy wasn’t being a pathetic loser trying to call dibs on a man by calling him a vampire, given all this,” she waves at the door, and yeah, that’s good enough to break through practically everyone’s Sunnydale Syndrome field of not noticing things, although it’s hard to tell if that’ll last, “...so you know at least one other person who wants to make out with a demon when it’s not complete Weirdville.”

        Things have gone really, really wrong if Cordelia is sounding utterly reasonable. Wronger than usual. So why does this make her feel a little better?

        Willow floats back out of the table and chair and sits as normally as she can, trying to figure out how to word her next question. “So, um. You didn’t feel weird about looking at Encantado and thinking ‘she’s attractive’?” Not that it’d make her feel that much better if she did, given that having something in common with Cordy might not exactly make her feel happy, but at least she’d be less alone in her weirdness.

        “I mean, duh. I don’t think like that about Aura or Harm or my other groupies, so I figure it’s the Demon Exception, trademarked, or whatever. I bet she knows what she’s doing, though. And the worst thing, the absolute worst, is that I can’t ask her for tips on how she gets her boobs so perky or how she’s so slim because she’s a demon. That’s pretty much cheating!” Unlike most of the Cordy Rants, which are like nails on a chalkboard, the absurdity just hits Willow and she can’t help but laugh. And if she’s not hallucinating (which, let’s face it, by this point that’s completely up in the air) she thinks she sees a self-satisfied smile on Cordy’s face, just a very quick one like she’s trying to hide it.

        “It’s when it comes to acting on it with other people that there’s issues, like pregnancy or whatever. That’s when you gotta make decisions about if it’s worth it. ‘Course, it’s easier for you—sure, people care what you do, but it’s not like you’re under a spotlight.”

        Tell that to Jennifer, Willow thinks uncharitably—in fact, she’s pretty sure Cordy had been in on that. She hadn’t been too popular before, but then after people just would not shut up until she’d just dropped out of school entirely.

        “No matter where you are, it sucks. We all make sacrifices,” the ‘Queen’ adds on, like she’s aware she’s being judged, and under normal circumstances Willow would just dismiss that as a justification she’s using to be a terrible person, but right now, she can’t. Taking it at face value, she’s just saying that she’s picked the option that she thinks sucks the least. Which, she’s wrong, Willow’s pretty sure, but. She can see why someone would come to that conclusion.

        That still doesn’t make her a good person for being a bully. But it’s understandable at least.

        “So I shouldn’t feel guilty about fantasies.” She still feels weird about this, mostly about taking advice from Cordelia of all people, but she’ll take it.

        “Well, I’m pretty sure, like, at least thirty people wish me dead every day. I’m not dead, and we’re not arresting them all for being murderers,” Cordy reasons, taking yet another chocolate bar (Willow’s surprised she’d deign to eat peasant chocolate, rather than, like, hideously imported chocolate from Europe or something).

        “I wanted him to be a little more serious, and, I mean, he is. And it is still him, underneath, and he knows me, but not the way I want him to, and he’s all cool and a hero and he looks good in the uniform but he doesn’t need me and I don’t even know which I prefer or if I even ever really liked him, y’know, like that.” The words flood out of her, and it takes Cordy a minute to follow along and catch up. And then she shrugs.

        “A shrug doesn’t help me,” Willow tells her, and this time, deliberately, Cordy shrugs again.

        “Look, I don’t know the answers to your questions and I could not be paid to care. You’re the one that needs to figure all that out.” Her usual blunt, harsh words, yeah, but also, that’s fair enough, because if she’s confused then how is anyone else supposed to know? She doesn’t have to rush it. Aside from maybe any questions or interrogations after they fix all this about secret admirers, but it wouldn’t be right to just force Xander to put up with her being all confusing and maybe hurting him in the process. Because, thinking about it, he is kinda sensitive, isn’t he?

        And then there’s another knock on the kitchen door, and they both freeze for a moment before Cordy calls out in the most obnoxious tone she can, “Password?”

        The helpless giggles catch Willow entirely by surprise.

Chapter Text

        It is an extremely good thing that he hadn’t happened to lose the Mystic Eye in the transition. Raidou hadn’t dared count on it, but it turned out that as usual the relic of the Yatagarasu was even more useful than he had hoped. The mirror shows which of the demons running rampant around the town happen to have been previously human, so he knows which to hold back against.

        While he’s at it, it’s also nice just to get some fresh air. Not that he doesn’t love Nix and Encantado dearly; Nix had been the first demon he’d gotten and that had been through negotiation, not confinement, and had been nothing but supportive, while Encantado was mischievous and a handful but occasionally extremely insightful and had even taught him to dance one evening. Still, both can be intense in their own ways, and he’s grateful that his last demon is much more straightforward. He’d even had...something humanoid under what might have been a black hat melt out of the shadows and hand him a gun and some ammo before melting back into the shadows with a chilling laugh, though he mostly only remembers the burning eyes. It’s nice to have a pistol in hand again, some sort of ranged deterrent, though he’s trying to be sparing with the ammunition considering he has no idea where or if he’ll be able to obtain more. Most of these demons don’t seem to be carrying around any on their person, which makes things considerably harder.

        Fire works well against the vampires, it appears, and he feels good about having cleared out that graveyard, though that could maybe just be the endorphins. He’d at least waited until they attacked first, because even if they did happen to be real demons, that doesn’t make them evil. Necessarily. It’s the ‘preying on people’ bit that’s the problem, not their existence in general.

        “It has been an honor serving you. You have earned my loyalty forever and through the ages,” Žiburinis intones as he uses one of his medicines to heal the demon. Maximum loyalty, nice. He’d had a feeling he was getting close. He pockets the ruby he’s handed, and then there’s another yell. There’s been a lot of them tonight, but it sounds kind of familiar, somehow…

        “Is that Mr. Giles?” The skeleton’s bones creak a little as he turns his head to the side, listening, and—yeah, he would be the kind of guy to shout ‘oh dear’, wouldn’t he.

        It’ll be a little odd, meeting the agent of the Yatagarasu stationed in Sunnydale, when it’s highly unlikely he’ll remember that, or Raidou, or putting him up in the little bookstore in town. He looks forward to it anyway. From what Willow had said, he still serves roughly the same role, so he might have some idea of what’s going on.

        It’s simplicity itself to rescue him from the humanoid bats and scarecrows and a weirdo with a knife and a white mask, even if the Mystic Eye suggests they’re all human. A little well-placed fire, and they go running. Of course, then Giles comes after Žiburinis with a sword Raidou slightly envies.

        “Hey, wait, he’s a friendly!” It takes the man a moment. At least the demon’s weak to wind, not physical attacks.

        “I—Xander? That’s a demon, isn’t it?” Seriously, it’s hard to imagine this world, given that devil summoning, while not well-known, isn’t entirely uncommon, either, among those who know of the various dangers that lurk in the world.

        “And you are a human, yet I do not judge you by the company you keep,” Žiburinis rumbles, looming, but after a moment Giles sheathes his sword again.

        “What is going on?” he asks, eyes sharp, and, hmm. He may seem unassuming, but he should have known better than to think the Yatagarasu would take any but the best as an agent, no matter how extensive or useful his collection of books. He knows how to wield a sword, too.

        “I only know any of this because Willow told me, but apparently everyone’s turning into their costumes.” Giles falls into step next to him.

        “Does this include you?” he asks, probably having already figured out the answer himself, simply seeking confirmation.

        “From what I remember, my birth name is Xander Harris, yes, but I earned the title of Raidou Kuzunoha the XVIII, Devil Summoner.” Perhaps he should mention the Yatagarasu, but it’s probably not relevant…

        “Raidou, you say? And did one of your predecessors protect the Capitol of Japan from a being known as Oumagatsu?” Giles’ tone is casual and not at all fitting for the question. Raidou’s heart leaps into his throat, and he feels on the verge of tears.

        “Otherwise known as the Soulless God, yes. How—” Does he—does the Kuzunoha line actually exist in this world?

        Giles actually pats him on the shoulder, awkwardly. “Several aspects of the story do not tally with the history we know—for example, the year Taisho 20 did not exist. However, the story did come to this world somehow, therefore…”

        “Therefore it came from another world, through some sort of connection,” Xander realizes, pulling the cap down and glancing aside to hide his wide grin.

        “I don’t suppose Willow mentioned any recent acquisitions that could have contained a spell?” the bookstore owner—no, wait, is he even one, here—asks, and, again, he’s fishing, looking for one specific answer that, without some idea of how to play along, Xander can’t possibly provide.

        “She didn’t, but we can go ask her. She’ll be safe enough in Castle Buffy,” Raidou answers quickly, turning that over in his mind. But, hmm, he can actually voice those thoughts out loud. Giles may no longer be his mentor, but if it helps in the investigation, then it doesn’t hurt to do so. “The effect is widespread, so it’s unlikely to be bespelled trinkets. It’s possible it’s some kind of animal, or small demon—one of my predecessors ran into luck locusts.” And then—another clue. Gouto would be proud. “It’s definitely not my shoes. I had to have Žiburinis make sure they were big enough to run in, so I doubt I got them recently.”

        Giles splutters. “Žiburinis? A Lithuanian forest spirit?”

        “My reputation precedes me.” The demon sounds pleased.

        He pulls himself together easily enough, though. “I hate prolonging this any further, but it’s not as if we can piece this together without information. If you would.”

        Raidou shrugs, enjoying the way it makes the mini-cape flutter. “It’s not like we don’t kinda have things under control; I’m one of the fighters the Duchess sent out to patrol the streets—hey Steve.”

        “Captain Rogers.” Giles sounds a little awestruck, even for a Brit.

        Captain America, for his part, salutes back, smiling. “Raidou. Escorting another civilian to HQ? I don’t have much of a report. I’ll reassign Xena to cover your route.”

        “If you would,” he responds, grinning back, because yeah this is pretty cool and he’s not going to lie about that, like, at all. Even Žiburinis enjoys the fact that Steve Rogers salutes him, too.

        Giles waits until they are far enough away before he mutters, “Good lord,” under his breath.

Chapter Text

        As they approach, once they’re past the five or so guards stationed in a perimeter around the house, it turns out they’re not the only ones seeking an audience with Her Grace, because there’s a vampire knocking on the door.

         “Angel. I’m surprised to see you knocking.” And Giles knows him, too, and doesn’t immediately draw his sword or warn Xander to prepare for an attack, so presumably he’s an ally. Raidou files that away.

         “Giles, thank goodness. It’s chaos out there. Do you know if Buffy’s safe?” He does genuinely mean it, Xander notices. He does care, but it’s secondary to Buffy, because while the tone is honest he rushes though a bit to the end.

         “I believe so, though I have yet to see in person,” Giles answers, not taking it personally.

         “I’d been told she’s fine, too, but I need to know for sure—” And then he notices Xander, and he’s suddenly on edge. Hmm. “Xander. It’s...good to see you’re safe.”

         He doesn’t fully mean it, but Raidou doesn’t take that to heart. After all, he’d gotten evidence he wasn’t exactly the best of people. Depending on the nature of the bad blood between them, it might actually be wholly his fault. He smiles in return, putting a hand on the brim as an acknowledgment. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

         The man blinks—more evidence it’s on his end, unfortunately—and then continues on awkwardly like he’s not sure what to do with it so doesn’t even want to try. “I wouldn’t usually bother, but I was told it could be dangerous if I didn’t approach this properly, and with everything else going on…”

         And then a voice calls out from inside. A now-familiar voice. “Password?”

         “...Swordfish?” Angel responds hesitantly, and the door opens.

         “Who’s unoriginal now?” he can’t help but taunt as he enters, as childish and unbecoming of a Raidou as that is, because come on, really? And then he raises an eyebrow at the ghost in the dining room chair, because for someone who very much didn’t want him to let the maimed catgirl inside, they seem to be getting along if all the giggling is any indication, and she’d been doing that before he’d made his little quip. Though she’s starting to look a little guilty now, and that hadn’t been the intention.

         “Willow, is Buffy okay?” Angel asks—sounds like he might have a bit of a one-track mind, then.

         “Her Grace is fine, but might throw a fit if you don’t call her Her Grace or Duchess,” Willow warns them seriously, dropping the guilt for now (which is good, because that does not need to be a tangent she’s on). “She’s been knighting people and taking oaths of allegiance for hours now.”

         “Mostly using my sword, until someone found a spare in Her Grace’s bedroom, freeing me up to go patrol,” Xander adds helpfully, because both of them look skeptical.

         “I’d say Her Grace does not like being talked about in third person, but it’s a normal part of the Duchess’ existence,” Duchess Buffy adds, dryly humorous, and Raidou bows deeply, Cordelia does some sort of probably slightly mocking imitation of a curtsey, and Willow’s attempt at a bow results in her practically slamming her face into and becoming one with the furniture, which would be worrisome if she wasn’t incorporeal at the moment. The Duchess looks over the newcomers carefully. “You’ll make a good noble advisor,” she decides, making Giles highly shifty. “Now, what news from the fields of battle?”

         “Situation normal. More civilians, more demons, no leads, thankfully no sign of the Fiend as of yet. Apparently there’s a whole group of civilians in an art gallery that hasn’t noticed anything; we’ve got agents keeping an eye on things there under Captain Rogers’ orders.” He notices Willow’s wide-eyed stare at the name and subtly nods in her direction, happy to see her grin and readying himself for the interrogation later. Though he’s not sure if she’d find talking Doom Guy out of just taking out everything as funny as he does. Or if she’s a fan of Tony Stark at all.

         “Excellent. I will take both of your oaths, and then we will see if we can’t find a better way to locate the source of this corruption.” The Duchess readies her sword, frowning when neither of the newcomers step up.

         “If I might, I believe we might clear this whole thing up with one question for Willow—” Giles begins, only to be cowed by the sheer force of Her Grace’s glare. Not that Xander blames him, at all. It’s seriously intimidating.

         “Everything in its time and place,” she snaps.

         It’s interesting watching their oaths; he hadn’t really bothered before, but given that he’ll probably be needed soon wandering off probably isn’t the best idea. Angel goes all old-fashioned with it with word choice and some of the accent, which seems to please Her Grace. Giles seems to phrase it as more of a renewal of an oath, which is fascinating but matches what Willow had said about him being Normal Buffy’s Watcher. Neither of them exactly know what they’re doing or are ready for the whole knighting business, but then, it’s not like he (or Willow, which had been odd enough though perhaps not surprising that it was possible, given that the sword had been supplied by the Yatagarasu) had experience, either. They’d both just figured out it was better to kneel much quicker.

         “And now that you are both my servants, ask your question.” Her Grace seems a little amused. He gets the feeling she might’ve insisted on it just to amuse herself.

         “Willow, from which store did you obtain your costumes?” Actually...that makes a lot of sense. Not only would it be a source that could affect such a wide variety of people, magically that also tracks. Symbolically, a costume would be worn to cover one’s identity, to become someone else, if only for a time, so casting a spell on one or even dozens would be simplicity itself.

         “Ethan’s,” comes her answer, and Raidou does not need a Pagan Order demon to read Giles’ mind. He’s trying valiantly not to let on, and if not for his training as a Kuzunoha Xander might have been fooled.

         “Well, I believe that’s all I needed to know. I don’t believe that’s a lead. Thank you—” Yep. He’s absolutely trying to slip away and deal with this all on his own. Fortunately, Xander doesn’t have to actually say anything, because it looks like the Duchess caught on, too.

         “Nonsense,” she states with dignity, eyeing her sword and then handing it off to a slightly panicked-looking Angel for safekeeping, given that she doesn’t even have a belt. “It would not do to let one of my servants travel alone in such a dangerous territory before we have finished conquering it and making it safe for travel and commerce. We shall accompany you.”

         Raidou smirks, double checking that the gun is fully loaded and offering to let Nix heal the cut on Angel’s hand, just in case that would get in the way of his being able to fight (he declines, looking just about as disturbed as Willow had).

         “Have fun storming the castle!” one of the civilians calls from the other room, and if he’s not mistaken Cordelia hides a smile as she goes to the freezer and retrieves an ice cream. Which someone is no doubt going to be very unhappy about, but given that she looks like the type to be complaining about calories the next day, the consequences will almost certainly find her without his help.

Chapter Text

        Raidou, perhaps in a show of ego, had started to think that, perhaps, their efforts were useful after all, and they had been cleaning up the streets. It should not have come as a surprise to determine that he had, in point of fact, been wrong, because they get in sight of the Halloween costume shop when everything goes wrong at once. It does not, however, come as a surprise that someone may have been thinking something about the whole thing being too easy, after all, and thus jinxed them. That someone may have even been him, though he’s not quite sure on the matter.

        “Going somewhere, your Highness?” a mocking voice calls out, and from around the side of a building comes a rather formidable ambush in the form of a handsome vampire with an actual opposing army. And even if some of them might be originally human, it might be rather difficult in the fray to be able to target effectively.

        “It’s your Grace, thank you,” the Duchess fires back, holding out her hand for her sword. Angel doesn’t seem to want to give it to her, which, yes, on the one hand perhaps her skills are not quite what they used to be, but on the other, it’s probably for the better for her to be armed than not.

        The easiest way out of this would be a Wind Order demon to securely fly them to the other side, while the Duchess’ army holds the army off. Once the costumes have all been reversed, in theory that should cut both armies down to a manageable size, even if that might mean Xander isn’t useful anymore. Of course, the gaping hole in this plan is that he doesn’t have a Wind Order demon and has no time to acquire one, even if it hadn’t been for the time constraints of being in the middle of battle, and a quick glance says none of these demons look like they’re the sort he’s familiar with, so he can’t even try confinement or negotiation, here.

        “The noblewoman and Angel are mine. Kill the rest,” Blondie orders, and with that, the limited order they’d managed to impose devolves into chaos once more. That sparks some kind of memory, but he can’t quite put his finger on it and doesn’t have the time to be thinking about this anyway.

        Another useful demon would’ve been a large one, like the Tarrasque or Tsuchigumo, to carry them above. He’d been lax on recruiting. He really should’ve been more proactive to ensure that he really did have the demons he needed ahead of time.

        Somewhere off in the fray he hears a distant “Cowabunga!” that makes him smile. The smile quickly disappears when he spots another Fiend—is that Hell Rider—but for now it seems like the knight of Hell is on their side, so it’s better not to let that distract him in the first place. He might as well squeeze off a few warning shots to keep enemies at bay as he tries to work out a strategy. Žiburinis is having the time of his existence setting things on fire.

        “Guns aren’t useful against demons!” Giles yells, and that hasn’t been true in Raidou’s admittedly short experience, but he has been taught about demons with some resistance to bullets.

        “That just means I need to get creative!” he yells back, and aims, because an inkling of a plan is coming to him. Even if a demon has regenerative capabilities, it’ll take time, and buying time is all they need. For example, Blondie stumbles and falls with his Achilles’ tendon severed, and even demonic (or vampiric, in this case) determination to move is no match for sheer physics. He’ll be right as rain the second his injury heals, but in the meantime, his ability to chase will be impeded.

        And it doesn’t help that it’s chaos. They hadn’t had time to train together, to form a true army that can spot and cover each other’s weaknesses effortlessly, but the same is true of the opposing army. It’d be easy to lose track of Her Grace in this, if only she wasn’t wearing her dress, which stands out—

        Wait. No, that’s just it. What if she didn’t stand out? Oh, that’s just perfect.

        “Storm! I need fog, now!” he calls out, and it’s just as good as a smoke bomb to obscure the area. Perfect.

        “Your Grace! I’ll need some strands of your hair!” He’s already recalling Žiburinis frantically, pulling out the first tube with shaking hands. “Nix, come forth!”

        “Will these do?” Duchess Buffy asks mildly, appearing next to him much faster than she should be able to trying to move in that dress.

        “Ready as ever, Raidou,” Nix promises as he appears. It’s a good thing he’s more experienced; a fresh demon might just start casting spells and wasting Mag the second they saw an enemy, but Nix instead waits patiently, knowing his Summoner has something else in mind given that he’s been summoned essentially mid-combat.

        “That’ll do just nicely, Your Grace, thank you.” He bows a little, handing the hair over to the waiting Nix. “Don’t worry about saving your power for anything else. Just keep using Transform.”

        “I daresay that is inspired,” Giles breathes, having apparently figured out what he’s thinking despite the slight differences in how any of this works.

        “Praise me after it works.” Superman seems amused when he flies down and picks up Duchess-Angel. Makes sense; it’s probably for the best that they send one of the fakes over first.

        “Shoot them down!” Blondie orders, pointing, and it’s then that one of the Duchess-Jedi goes charging out through the fray, followed closely by Willow. “...That’s cheating!”

        He’s no fool, and yes it absolutely is, but like hell is it on him to play fair with these odds.

        “Pretty sure you can get the hang of this,” a Green Lantern tells the actual Duchess, handing over the ring, and with a whoop she’s soon airborne, dress turning green, which does serve as a pretty good ‘I’m clearly not the real Duchess’ confusion tactic.

        Duchess-Giles looks very concerned about everything when the Hulk picks him up and goes bounding through the battlefield, but he doesn’t have time to say much more than ‘oh dear’. Again.

        “Is it the time?” Nix asks hopefully, as Raidou feels the usual uniform transform into a floofy dress, which, yeah, he’s got absolutely no idea how to move or fight in, so he kind of needs to be carried. It turns out, as he’d kind of expected, that while using a demon’s talents for investigation normally requires little to no effort, spamming it like this does actually deplete some of his already low Magnetite. It’d been worth it, though.

        “Yeah.” He barely has to say the word before Nix is transforming into a really handsome horse. He pats the flank. “Rescue me, oh noble steed, I’m a Duchess in distress.”

        He gets the distinct feeling Nix is laughing at him, but his demon obediently kneels and lets him mount, galloping off the minute he thinks Xander’s grip on his mane is secure enough. It turns out it’s not, and he’s nearly dragged off once before Nix freezes the ogre with what is probably the last of his Mag, and he gives up on dignity or anything else and just throws himself forward and hugs onto the galloping demon’s neck for sheer life.

Chapter Text

        By the time they reach the costume shop, it’s clear that the transformation spell is wearing off, but it’s done its job. It’s much easier to barricade a street, particularly when you’ve got three incredibly powerful superheroes working together to create a barricade of literal glowing will and concrete, than it is to try to sneak through a warzone. Any trying to sneak around are easy enough to pick off, particularly when some on your side have guns and can snipe shots, even though they still don’t do the kind of damage to demons Raidou is used to.

        He is slightly shocked that Giles did not immediately break in, actual backup be damned. Of course, the actual Duchess watching him knowingly might have something to do with that, but still. Raidou’s first impression was that the man was very calm and rational, but the hints of impatience and desire for action are definitely showing a different side to the Agent of the Yatagarasu. Even though he isn’t, not here. Xander had some more street smarts than previous holders of the title, due to the amount of the time he’d spent avoiding his own home, before he’d been given to the Elders for training, but it’d been a while, and those senses, like a blade disused, may certainly have dulled. He should be taking no one at face value.

        “I don’t believe it is too early to say at this point that the plan was inspired and effective.” He—all right, maybe it’s the spell clouding his memory, but he cannot recall praise, even though logically he had to have earned some. During the trials, perhaps, or—

        Nix smiles gently, proudly. “He is right, my Summoner. Few Devil Summoners, even those calling themselves Raidou, would have thought of such a plan.”

        Raidou’s grip on his hat is the only thing that is keeping him from melting right into the street. He’s no Fourteenth, and he’s barely begun. He has...all right, perhaps he has earned a little tiny scoop of this praise, but the whole sundae is far beyond him. Just as this metaphor is getting out of hand, even though it may only be happening within the confines of his brain. Perhaps he should just move on? “I don’t suppose he left the door open?” he asks, gesturing at the door.

        From the thoughtful gaze Giles aims in his direction, he’s given something away. He doesn’t even really care what that something is, at the moment—that’s a problem for Future Xander, not Present Xander—as long as they move on from the subject before he implodes from being under the spotlight like this. “...He has not, but given the correct materials, I could pick the lock.”

        That sounds...incredibly awesome, and later Raidou—or, rather, Xander, he will be just plain ol’ Xander, at that point—is going to pester him for lessons, but despite the fact that they’re keeping the army at bay for the time being, that will only last for so long, and Nix shivers and draws a little closer to Raidou even as he becomes aware of the power building, like the feeling of a storm brewing. “I’m not sure we have the time for that,” he disagrees slowly.

        Angel and Nix attempt to break down the door, though Angel’s all awkward about the teamwork thing, and the door probably has some sort of spell on it because it doesn’t budge an inch. He’s going to guess all the doors are like that, because this sorceror really didn’t want to be interrupted.

        Angel opens his mouth—probably to sass him, honestly—but the Duchess beats him to it. “I suppose you have an alternative to suggest?”

        He considers that for a moment, and then yes he absolutely does. Destructive, yes, dangerous, absolutely, but they’re on a schedule before the power reaches its peak, at which point something bad will almost certainly happen. Gouto would probably disapprove, not that he’s going to bother attempting to hide it, later. His future report should be given in all accuracy. “Willow, can you, discreetly, check if the guy is anywhere near this front wall? Don’t get spotted, please.”

        Almost immediately she’s phasing into the wall, but at least she does seem to be being careful about it. And she’s back before anyone can start interrogating him, so that’s good. Like a dork, she salutes. “It’s clear, Raidou.”

        Okay, pretty much all of that was weird, but he’ll ignore that for now. “Okay. You might want to back up, then.”

        Pretty much all of them dive for cover, which means they all have some amount of self-preservation instincts. Excellent.

        Gouto had grudgingly agreed that Sid with all of his wares was pretty helpful, even though he’d grouse about how he knows it’s rich for one spirit stuck in a different body to be this wary about another, but, like, no one knows what’s up with him. He’d come recommended by the Devil Summoner community or Raidou wouldn’t have even talked to him. He’d also spent a lot of time talking about missing a guy named Victor and even ‘that grouchy old antiques dealer’. And sure, sometimes you really need to be discreet, but sometimes, too, you just gotta go with what works, presuming you have the necessary tools. Like blowing up a whole storefront building wall. He does retreat to a safe distance with the rest; he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have the Mag for Nix to be healing him up if he’s reckless. When the dust clears, the door is still there, but the wall isn’t, with costumes strewn every which way.

        “If the door doesn’t want to open, sometimes you’ll find you don’t actually need the door.” And he’s pretty sure he actually does look vaguely cool with the little cape blowing behind him and his hand on his hat.

        “Xander, you’re actually terrifying sometimes,” Angel tells him, looking—he can’t tell if that’s impressed or queasy, but he’ll take that as a compliment all the same.

        And he turns to Giles and gestures for him to go ahead, since the path forward is clear. “After you.”

Chapter Text

        Janus, if Raidou remembers correctly, has something to do with doorways, beginnings, the calendar, things like that. Giles happens to be busy practically flinging around the sorceror, trying to get him to divulge how to deactivate the spell, so Xander must seek his answers elsewhere for the time being.

        He is, again, a little useless, but this time he doesn’t feel as restless, because, well, he and his demons had been useful up until this point, so he doesn’t feel as if he’s completely failed his training. He and Nix are trying to keep a slight eye on proceedings, but, well, it seems like Giles happens to have things entirely in hand, and they do need to keep an eye on the hole in the wall, just in case any demons do happen to slip past the blockade.

        Fortunately, he’s not one of those who simply sees demons as tools to be bent to his own will—they are creatures of their own, with feelings, aspirations, thoughts, and desires. Their lives matter as well. Which means they are more than just their ability to fight or use skills in his investigations. Given that he doesn’t even have the Mag to switch out his demon at this point, he’s ‘stuck’ with Nix. As if his original demon is any sort of hardship, really. “I don’t remember anything about Janus to be particularly ‘chaos’-like. Tricksters like Loki, maybe, but…” And, of course, Loki is also far above his own pay grade.

        Fortunately, his demon is knowledgeable, as well, looking a little thoughtful. “Humans are so obsessed with categorization, requiring labels for existence. Though perhaps that’s due to your reliance on words—and for good reason, since you have demonstrated that language can shape reality itself.” That’s...a good point, actually, with spells and the like. A quick mental consideration of the spells he knows doesn’t turn up anything actually useful for this moment in time, and it’s not like the Yatagarasu approves highly of learning magic unnecessarily, finding that Summoners (among others) quickly become reliant on such for easy solutions rather than honing their own problem-solving skills. Spells and rituals can be learned, if one can convince the Herald it’s suitable for the occasion, but it’s highly unlikely that even if the Herald exists in this world they’ll be able to find her in time for any aid on that front. “He was associated with chaos, yes, but also order. The union of two opposing forces. Rather trickster-like characteristics, though he was seen more as a primordial figure than a true deity as such. And yes—I do believe he’s outside your capabilities, for now.”

        He’d suspected, but still, it’s good to hear it for sure. If anyone’s had a front-row seat to his growth, it’s Nix, so, likewise, that’s his best source of an assessment of his skills. “Schrödinger’s alignment, then.” He’s made Nix laugh, and yeah, the water demon is absolutely gorgeous even in this.

        And then a sudden clatter draws their attention, mirth disappearing entirely in the face of business, as the sorceror tries one last ploy to maintain his power—negotiation, by the sound of it. It may have made gagging the man a good idea, though that would certainly make an interrogation considerably harder.

        “Do you really want to give up your power, Duchess?” he asks, and while it’s maybe a taunt, it—

        It is a slightly seductive question. Because yeah, sure, if you’re the good person in all this, the ‘correct’ answer is no, right? Power can corrupt. And yet, if you’re powerless, unable to change events...then what does that make you? You’re merely the bystander in someone else’s story, and it’ll be up to others to change events, to do whatever the hell they like, and all you can offer is a simple protest.

        And he—gods he doesn’t want to give up Nix or Encantado or Žiburinis, for the company if nothing else. He hardly knows any of these people. His self, his very existence, is defined by him being the Devil Summoner Raidou Kuzunoha the XVIII. Without it, who is he?

        A hand on his, and his mind feels suddenly clearer. “Awaiting your command, Xander.”

        It’s a special privilege to be called by his birth name, something that even Nix for all the loyalty he’s earned has never done before. The gentle words, the encouraging smile, the proud look in the demon’s eyes, all add to the meaning of what is being said as much as the words themselves.

        Nix trusts him, puts his life in Raidou’s hands as much as the other demons do. If he decided a fusion was necessary, then they would surrender themselves willingly, living on through another. The call is Xander’s as much as it is the decision of Her Grace. And there’s a special kind of certainty there that suggests the demon believes he’ll make the right choice. He wants to ask, to beg for advice, since Gouto isn’t here to tell him what to do—

        And yet, no. That’s simply his desire to avoid the consequences for his choice, to foist off any responsibility on another, and Gouto would probably realize that, too.

        Perhaps, in some way, this will be his death. Perhaps these are the last minutes of the existence of Raidou Kuzunoha the XVIII. Perhaps another would be called in his stead, or perhaps not.

        It doesn’t matter, in the end. He knows his duty—to protect the city, to save civilians. If he must lose the part of him that is Raidou, if he must lose what makes him useful, in this situation...then he must do so, as long as this situation puts others’ lives in danger. He had served well and honorably, and he cannot walk away, cannot turn his back on this. He has to be the voice of reason to Her Grace Buffy.

        “Serving the people...is not an easy task. It demands sacrifice.” Over and over, and yet he had done so time and time again to follow this path, choosing to discard his past for the sake of others’ future.

        Willow must see something in his eyes that alarms her, because she reaches out a hand, calling out, “...Wait! Duchess, Raidou—”

        Her Grace smiles, superior and cold and deadly. “The way I hear it, I already have power,” she asserts, a well-aimed sword strike hitting the statue precisely and smashing it apart, just—

        like—

        Raidou’s consciousness

Chapter Text

        It’s a little awkward, the day after. It helps that apparently everyone’s feeling that way. Willow keeps blushing, and given some of the other context clues Xander’s pretty sure he’s worked out what that means, although he’s still trying to figure out if he wants Willow to actually bring it up or if they should just forget any of this ever happened. Cordy’s even being...weirdly nice. She’d left enough money for Buffy to cover all the food that got eaten and then some, although that was probably more an ‘I owe you nothing, plebeians’ stunt than anything, and seems to be trying to figure out where she stands on the existence of vampires, now that she knows Buffy wasn’t making up things and they’re real. Xander actually legitimately wishes her luck on this one, because he’s feeling so scrambled from the experience that he’s actually not sure where he falls anymore.

        He should be. The whole vampire thing, it’s...like, if vampires aren’t all irredeemable evil, then maybe Jesse died in vain. But also, the very teeny-tiny part of him in his brain that still feels like he’s Raidou (even though that might totally be some kind of delusion, because the spell was broken, wasn’t it?) says that it’s not his fault, after all. Sure, his hand was on the stake, but he also wasn’t the guy that pushed Jesse, so...maybe it doesn’t matter, after all. He didn’t have the reflexes, and it was an accident, and also while maybe he could’ve gotten through to the guy eventually Jesse didn’t seem to want to listen to reason, at the time, and he definitely could’ve, like, hurt Xander, or Willow, or Cordy before they could manage to talk some sense into him, so. Maybe it’s just a terrible tragedy, instead. That’s his life, really.

        And also Buffy. He wishes her luck, too. Because this is partly supposed to be a brainstorming session to try to figure out what the hellmouth kinda cover story she should use for the whole ‘feeding an army’ thing, and he doesn’t have a single practical word of advice to contribute, and while Willow’s usually better at this kind of thing, she, too, seems a little sleep-deprived and less functional, today.

        “I, um. Do you know what happened to the demons?” Willow asks, blushing, and that makes him feel a little better. Because she’s not just asking about Nix, maybe. It makes him feel a little less alone.

        Surreptitiously, he takes out the vials, manually uncorking the first just enough that she can still see the green light of the Mag glowing within, before stuffing it right back into his bag. As expected from the Slayer, Buffy frowns.

        “So, uh. They’re...trapped? In there?” she waves vaguely in its direction.

        “Yeah, can’t summon ‘em without Mag, so if we don’t want them trapped in there the only thing I can do is set them loose. I think they’d more or less behave themselves—demons of former Summoners from what I can remember…” Which may or may not be accurate, not that he needs to actually say that because it seems like they’re following along, “...tend to be pretty good about this stuff, as long as they’ve been well-treated by their Summoner. But it’s kind of a one-way shot, so I don’t know that it’s a good idea to just...do it, as bummed as I am about the whole ‘imprisoning a creature’ thing.”

        “Is it...cramped in there?” Nerd. Of course Willow starts getting excited about all these little details like that.

        “Nix said it was pretty spacious, and he was able to redecorate with water and everything. And they shouldn’t die, as long as there’s Mag—which supposedly the tubes have an infinite amount of, somehow. I…” He fidgets. He hates letting her down, but he’s not going to start making up stuff, either, not about this. “...I kinda wasn’t paying attention? Allies of the Yatagarasu have been making them for centuries, and I didn’t see why I needed to know how it worked as long as it worked.”

        “Some things don’t change,” Buffy remarks, and he winces.

        Yeah, okay, she’s not wrong, but still, that’s a muchly mean thing to say.

        “It’s fine, Xander.” It’s not, really; it’s going to bug her all day. But it’s not like he can just conjure answers up out of thin air, either.

        “Why are you both blushing?” Buffy asks, and wow that went right over her head, didn’t it? He exchanges a glance with Willow. She’s on the verge of just going nonverbal squeaking, but she takes a deep breath and manages to continue on anyway.

        Maybe all of this was good for, well, Wils at least. “‘Raidou’s’ demons were very pretty. I, um, I researched them and they’re both kind of seen as incubi/succubi type figures, so.” Fortunately, Buffy’s obliviousness doesn’t quite extend far enough to make the explanation painful, because that’s a very thinky face.

        And, well, Willow’s being brave, and she’s now his oldest and dearest friend in the whole world, so seriously, he can’t just let her do this alone. “They’re not even demons I remember having heard about from all my training. My very non-existent training that exists only in my head, I mean. And we hadn’t read about them for researching before, so...I’m not sure what…”

        Willow’s holding his hand, now. That’s nice. He misses doing that, a bit, back when they were kids. Gives him the strength he needs to keep going. Which is useful, because he’s pretty sure he’s lying and knows exactly—well, not exactly, roughly—what’s going on here and just wanted to keep lying to them. To himself.

        “I’ve been...not-me before. It’s...scary, being out of control like that.” He hadn’t wanted to tell them, but neither of them look shocked or back away from him or anything. He’d just been so ashamed…

        “We kind of figured, but we also kind of figured you didn’t want to talk about it,” Buffy admits, and it’s kind of funny, but that’s...a lot of the stuff they don’t talk about, isn’t it? A mutually understood silent agreement not to bring certain subjects up.

        “That, and, well. The mummy and the preying mantis, and I can never look at N’Grath the same way again…” He’s getting nervous and making nerdy references that only Willow gets, whoops. She squeezes his hand. “It’s...kind of the fantasy, right? To have that happen, to have someone powerful focus on you and flirt with you but not to actually, you know, force you to do anything. Just kind of there and supportive. And if it’s both a male and female demon...I mean, the female demon thing was easy to imagine. Been there, done that. A male demon is new and therefore, weirdly, less threatening.” Even if, before all this, he probably would’ve insisted it was, in fact, the other way around. That was probably his dad talking. And yeah, sure, he probably should’ve come to the conclusion that given his track record Tony Harris isn’t right about anything, but it’s...not exactly like that’s the only guy he’s heard that kind of thing from.

        “So...taking back control?” Buffy asks after a bit, trying to wrap her mind around that, which is also fair because he’s pretty sure those words weren’t adequate, at all. It’s just that he doesn’t know what the right words even are, or he’d be using them.

        He shrugs. Kinda? Yeah? He wasn’t thinking that much about this; it was pretty much all subconscious. But it’s the best explanation he’s got.

        She stretches, and yeah, it’s still kind of distracting, but it’s...not urgent anymore? Sure, he notices, but it’s not the same deal it used to be yesterday and okay, that’s just weird. Like his entire world changed overnight.

        Although from the way Willow looks away, maybe he’s not the only one at all. And then Buffy meets his eyes with a knowing smile and then, deliberately, turns to look at Willow and oof there it is, his old friend. The awkwardness is back, multiplied by a really big number that he can’t quite measure at this point. “Am I the only one that didn’t have some kind of sexuality crisis last night?”

        Uh, okay. This doesn’t have to be weird. Buffy knows and she’s not making a fuss, which means she’s okay with it. Or at least they can all manage to continue forward without making this too weird. Not that it bothers him too much, usually, having the libido of a teenage boy, but this time it’s not exactly making him uncomfortable in a fun way. “You were too busy being part of the everybody that wants to rule the world,” he decides, patting her arm, and she pouts theatrically at them both.

        “Not that I want to, as it kinda sounds awful, but I’m feeling left out anyway,” she complains, and Willow laughs, which is good, because if there’s anyone that overthinks things more than him, it’s...well, he was going to say her, but maybe it’s more like ‘these two’.

        “Your share of the awful is having to explain to your mom,” Willow decides shyly, making their friend groan, but the whole conversation is interrupted anyway because Jonathan of all people comes up to them trying to talk about last night and then the bell rings.

Chapter Text

        There’s advantages about being best friends with someone. Things like the fact that they don’t really have to talk, just exchange a few glances, for him to effortlessly interpret what Willow wants him to do, and he’s so scared he’s breathless, or maybe that’s the anticipation. So while, as usual, a teacher wants to talk to her about scholarships, or whatever, he slips home and grabs the costume. And as usual, her parents aren’t home, so they have the space to figure out whatever the hell this is.

        His hands are shaking a little as he changes in the bathroom. He’s done this before, but it’s been years and years; he’d fallen into the ocean when they were just supposed to be walking beside it, so he’d had to change into fresh clothes to get out of the soaked ones. It’s different doing it now.

        She’d maybe hinted, before. He’s going back through everything and driving himself into higher and higher states of panic, trying to work out when she started feeling this way and if she ever tried to say anything, to make it obvious, to tell him that she actually liked him. Maybe. Maybe there’s a couple of times, he may have noticed, maybe, unless he’s just making up stuff in his own head, because he does that sometimes. If there were, though, he couldn’t tell himself he’d actually noticed them for real, was just imagining things because like hell did anyone actually like him, you know, that way, even if it was his only best friend, now. Now that Jesse’s gone.

        He’s terrified. He doesn’t want to mess this up. He will, it’s him, and maybe she could forgive him. If anyone could, it’s Willow. She knows what he’s like, better than anyone, which should scare her off. She shouldn’t...she shouldn’t find that hot. Gods, she finds him hot, and that’s not something he’d let himself think before, and now he’s thinking about it and he can’t quite stop. But it’s…

        It’s something familiar. Their friendship. Something he could count on, no matter how bad things got. Maybe he was taking her for granted. But, you know, maybe that’s exactly what she wanted, for him to depend on her? To feel needed, somehow? Or maybe she just wanted him to take her.

        He swallows, shifting. He’s sitting on her chair. He...gets the feeling this was sort of a booty call, or whatever, so maybe he was supposed to be laying seductively on her bed, or whatever, but he’s already feeling nervous and weird enough, and sure, he’s entirely certain he didn’t misread what that glance meant, but, like, what if he did? This morning was bad enough. If she didn’t actually want him here, like this, he’s not entirely certain the embarrassment wouldn’t kill him on the spot.

        It’s just...he doesn’t know what he’s doing. This is new, and he definitely wants whatever she wants to give him, or do, or whatever, though that just might be that he’s so desperately horny, but…calm. Sure, this is going to be weird, whatever this is, but at least he can minimize how weird and awkward this is, if he can, if he isn’t just going in ever-increasingly ridiculous circles spiraling away from reality and this isn’t unwanted, even though it’s him and he just...he cares about her, he doesn’t want to mess this up, and they had play-acted being boyfriend and girlfriend, once. But he’s not sure if he loves her, and that’s important, right? That’s the kind of thing he feels like he should know. If they’re going to...make out, or whatever. He’s scared, and he kind of wants to back out, but that’s cowardly, isn’t it? He shoves down all that stuff Tony Harris says about what a ‘real man’ would do, because all of that’s bullshit.

        He’s here because, well, he owes her enough to try. Not because she’s the first person who’s actually said she, well. She hadn’t said she loves him, not out loud, but the lack of words is all the more meaningful because she means them, every unspoken word. Not because he’s pathetic and desperate for a girlfriend, although he kind of is. Not even that with the whole ‘secret admirer’ thing (probably) that it creates some sort of obligation, or whatever.

        He might’ve said or thought things like that before. The thing is, he was wrong.

        Probably still will be. Often. Unrepentantly. Or maybe a teeny bit of repentance, but not spoken out loud.

        No, all of that doesn’t matter. The fact is, this is Willow, and so she deserves for him to try. Because she’s thought about all of this, too—well, probably not all of it, there’s probably almost certainly something wrong with him, or maybe that’s just called being a teenager, but she’s thought about all the things like maybe this breaking their friendship or any of the other things that could go wrong that he hasn’t even thought about, and she’d decided it was worth trying anyway, and she’s definitely smarter than him. This will just keep bothering them if they don’t act on it. At least, it will haunt him, and from how distracted she’d been this morning, he’s pretty sure he’s not the only one. So they need to at least...try this out.

        No matter how nervous he is about trying this out, about being...bad. Even though he’s pretty sure she doesn’t have any more experience than he does.

        And then he hears her front door open and he’s pretty sure his heart is just going to rabbit right out of his chest. He wants to call out, to go and greet her, but he’s frozen in place, can’t open his mouth even if he wanted to, can’t even breathe.

        “X-Xander?” Willow stammers, nervously calling out, and okay yeah he can breathe again, because she sounds as nervous and anticipatey as he feels. It’d been just as much of a relief to realize that, well, as weird as he felt for being hung up on both the demons, she’d been thinking about it, too. If he’s going to be more of a freak, at least they’ll be freaks together.

        “I’m in your room,” he replies, before realizing belatedly that sounds weird you absolute creep, only she laughs nervously in response, so maybe that wasn’t wrong after all? Only he’s out of time to think about it, because she’s at the door, and they’re just kind of...frozen. Staring at each other.

        He hadn’t...really thought about it, before, the fact that Willow might get just as horny. She’d kind of shut him down, before, when he’d babble. And it’s not like he tried to talk about it, all the time, it’s just that he’d get distracted and then it was just hard to think and sometimes things would just slip out. He can see a bit of that in her eyes now, even as she bites her lip and her hands just...move around aimlessly, like she can’t quite figure out what to do with them. Which makes him feel just that little bit less of a loser, too. “You, um. You look good. I didn’t say it before.”

        He feels his face warm. Raidou hadn’t known what to do with praise, either, and Raidou was pretty much the best of him, he can’t lie about that. Raidou was pretty much him, with all the bad parts removed. “I...can’t believe you actually mean that,” he confesses, because he still doesn’t see it. It’s not quite the disaster that trying to shove him into spandex would’ve been, but still.

        “Xander, I l—” she starts, and then stops, swallowing her words. Panicking a bit, maybe, like he’d think she wasn’t serious because she didn’t know, but it actually makes him feel a little better. Because he doesn’t know what she is, what she means, to him either. And he’d been beating himself up about it, because seriously, shouldn’t you just know, only if she hasn’t figured it out and she’s the smartest person he knows, then maybe it’s cool if he hasn’t worked it out either. “I’m your secret admirer,” she decides, instead, and a laugh escapes him, nervous and breathless.

        “I, uh. I figured.” That sucks, Xander, say something that matters. “I—thank you?” It comes out unsure and a little scared and she shuffles a little by the doorway.

        “No, um. Thank you. For coming.” There’s a beat where neither of them quite process what she said, and then she squeaks and hides her head in her hands, and he laughs, too, because he’d been worried that he’d be the one to say the worst thing first. “Because you don’t...I mean, you’re just humoring me…” she continues in a rush, and he can’t quite figure out what he’s supposed to do. Is he supposed to get up and comfort her, pull her into a hug, or is that too forward for what they’re about to do, or—wait, no, maybe that’s what she wants or needs or whatever—

        His legs make the decision for him, and soon she’s in his arms, and...it feels exactly the same. He’d been waiting for that electric moment to realize her breasts are squished against his torso, or something, but it’s just the same old hug. Maybe it’s because it’s something they’ve done so often it’s cemented as platonic in his brain.

        “I...don’t actually know. I’m not just using you for sex, or anything. I’m not—” hell, if anything words matter even more here than they did this morning, and he still doesn’t have enough of them, or ones that are good enough. But she’s been interpreting him for years, just as much as he has her. Might as well continue and hope she can figure it out. “We...owe it to each other to figure this out, right?” he asks, and this is a new smile. Hopeful.

        “So, um. What do you want?” she prods, and they’re not going to make the first move, are they? Either of them.

        He can’t help but laugh at that. “I don’t exactly know, Mr. Morden,” he responds, and she pouts at him. “We can go where you want with this. I—” He breathes in, a deep, shuddering breath. “I have no plans.”

        She leans in and kisses him.

        It’s a good kiss. He thinks? His brain is suddenly too busy recategorizing those are lips of Willow I am being kissed by my best friend to figure out what they’re actually doing. And his pulse quickens, but—

        She pulls away. And she’s frowning.

        “I’m sorry,” he apologizes reflexively, not exactly sure what he did wrong, but obviously there has to be something, if neither of them are feeling it, exactly.

        “No, it’s not—” She cuts herself off, quickly, a little frustrated—maybe it’s that she’s not getting off, that can get annoying, he could offer to help— “The, um. The costume I got.”

        “The yearly boo?” he teases, knowing it’s not, knowing that it’s the Star Trek uniform if the uniform actually was designed for jacking off and not just people imagining it was.

        She slaps his arm, lightly, a warning, and he shivers, but he can’t tell if it’s a good shiver or a bad shiver. “You know which one. I got it for you. I wasn’t sure, but Buffy said I should.”

        There’s still something in the way, a mental barrier of this is Willow, but completely objectively, “...You looked good in it, too.”

        She runs her hand lightly down his chest, still unsure but getting bolder. “I wanted you to see it and think about this. About you touching me.”

        The gasp is unexpected. He hadn’t meant to, but she looks pleased, so it’s fine. And she’s actually getting more comfortable, to the point she can actually say this stuff out loud. She wriggles out of his hug, brushing up against him as she does in a way that makes them both shiver, and pushes him toward the bed. He goes willingly, oh so willingly, because wow that’s a different look for her, until she’s pushing him onto the mattress. And then she leans down to whisper in his ear, practically plastered against him, and that warmth is nice. “I’m going to go change. You lay there and touch yourself through your clothes.”

        “Y-yes ma’am,” he stammers, feeling her heated gaze as he reaches down, running his other hand over his chest. His eyes slip shut as she leaves.

        He should think of her, he knows. That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? But something in his brain keeps returning to Nix, touch just as gentle as when he was healing, or Encantado, playful and teasing and oh-so-close as they dance…Nix pinning him down with his weight, cooler than Willow, like a river, lapping around his legs in a way that can’t, won’t let him think, the slip of smooth dolphin skin against him, friction driving him wild—

        He gets a moment of warning as his hands are pulled out of the way before there’s a weight on him that’s not his imagination, warm and soft, and his hips drive up instinctively, causing them both to gasp—

        she’s not actually wearing anything underneath that skirt this time

        “The next time we find you at the mercy of some demon, I’m tempted to just…” she gasps again, reaching down to grab one of his hands and slip it below her top, biting her lips again. “...j-just watch….”

        He lets out a low, ragged moan. That thought is hot, but she’s here, so very here, so why—why isn’t there that spark, why—he’s turned on, yeah, but Willow—

        She tries again, a desperate thrust of the hips, but that’s not turned on breathing, that’s distressed breathing, and he puts out his other hand to stop her. “Wh-what’s wrong, what am I.” Brain not quite functioning, stuck in rebooting process. “Help?” he tries again.

        She pushes the hand out of the way and collapses against him, only that’s not sexy either, and those are definitely sobs, now.

        “I, um.” Still rebooting. Faster, brain. “I can do better?” he offers, and she hiccups a laugh into the crying.

        He’d been...he’d been so scared this would happen. Maybe this is actually the nightmare? He can hope. Because this was supposed to help. This was supposed to make it better, and she’s crying into his chest which decidedly isn’t helpful at all.

        “It’s not you,” she tells him, voice oh-so-small, when she finally finds it. “I’ve wanted this so long and I—”

        “It’s not like this has to be the last time we try,” he adds, and she backs up like he’s venomous or something, standing awkwardly. “Or...not.” Oof. It’s fine. He can plaster on a smile. How’s that different, other than being a little more often?

        “I’m...not feeling it. Are you?” Oh. Um.

        She stands, trembling but slowly more confident, waiting for him to take stock, which oh yeah this is Willow she knows me and what I’m like funny how I keep forgetting that. When I’m not remembering when she’d probably me rather not.

        “I’m definitely still horny?” he offers, because that’s easier to define.

        “Same, but it’s not...you. Or me. Is it?” She’s still just standing there.

        Is that what the spark-thing means? Or lack, rather—he’d had it, thinking about his demons, but.

        “If you’re not feeling it either...probably not?” He’s pretty sure it’s a slightly nonsensical answer, but he’s still catching his breath. “Still, I, um. I’m glad we did this.”

        “You are?” Tentatively, she takes a few steps toward him, and he pulls himself together enough to scooch over, patting the bed, and after a moment she comes and sits, joining him.

        “Yeah, I mean. If we didn’t try, we’d just be wondering.” Strange how less weird it is to say this kind of thing, now. After that.

        “I—think I might have a crush on Cordelia.” She confesses that quietly, like Xander can judge her, after everything they’ve been through in the last day.

        “I think they might have to revoke your position in the ‘I Hate Cordelia Chase’ Club for that, but don’t worry. They haven’t had events since—” Since Jesse, he almost says, but nah, maybe there are some places they shouldn’t go, even now.

        She nods, hesitant. “I think she might’ve been flirting with me, too.”

        That’s...unexpected, but you know, huh. He’s finally catching his breath, relaxing again. Now they know. “If she dates you and breaks your heart, cruel and terrible vengeance is mine.”

        She’s smiling again. And yeah, he’s pretty sure, now, he loves her, but not like that. “What about you? Anyone catch your eye now?”

        He laces a hand through hers, ignoring the fact that they both kind of jump since they’re so sensitive to touch at the moment. “I think I’m maybe getting over Buffy. I...think I might get the crush on Giles, now. Maybe Larry, but not, like, in a serious way. I dunno.” She nods, eyelids drifting closed, and it’s not the last time they’ll talk. But they’ve figured out something important, and they can figure out the rest later.

Chapter Text

        It’s really, really awkward to think about this, but—he can, now. He would’ve avoided it before, because he didn’t want to think about it, but real or not he has some discipline, now, and he’s already been forced with one impossible decision already this week. And as scared as he’d been about making it, about messing up, it had gone fine. Been ridiculously awkward, at the time, but he and Willow weren’t just blushing at everything anymore, and weirdly, they’re better friends than they’d been for a bit. Though they still have to figure out something to tell Buffy. She might not take it well, but hey, both he and Willow are happy with the results, so. She’ll get on board, too, eventually. He’d been putting this off, scared of making a decision, and yet that’s the coward’s way of deciding, because it’s running away from this change without taking the responsibility. He won’t turn his head from the difficult questions.

        He’s kneeling, sword in front of him, for once not restless or distracted, mind clear with purpose. Because, as in his memories, he has a choice to make. Two paths.

        The first is the easiest: deny his ability. Sure, the spell broke, like the hyena thing, but there’s lingering traces there, and it’d be so easy to retrain himself. It’d probably be easy to just let them lie dormant, too, rust away from lack of use. Never touch the Tubes again, except perhaps to free his demons, given that they don’t exactly deserve the fate of eternal confinement, never again claim himself a Devil Summoner, never step onto the battlefield again. But maybe it’s for the best; it’s highly likely that he’ll paint a target on his own back and possibly Buffy’s if he goes through with this. The simple, easy choice. It’s not like she needs his help, either. Jonathan and a couple of the other people transformed on Halloween have already approached Buffy for help, started setting up some sort of community watch. Maybe they’ll have more warning before the next apocalypse. It’s not like it all rests on Buffy anymore.

        The second is a path of pain and torment. No more sleeping in, no more lazing about, no more doing less than applying his full self. He’s under no illusions that it would be easy. He’ll have to retain habits he remembers having formed but very possibly never put into practice. Early wake-ups, kata, battle training. And that’s just the start—magnetite is scarce, here, so more than before he can’t afford to screw up or he’ll find himself dead or playing a catch-up game. He thinks he can find a route into the Dark Realm, if he looks hard enough, but doing so and being allowed to take it are two different things. And that’s all if he can even convince Giles to let him try, which is an obstacle in of itself.

        It’s easy to feel attachment. In his memories, his own family gave him up to the Kuzunoha to raise. The training had been grueling and harsh, but it’d also given him a purpose and adult figures who actually loved him and cared for him.

        And there’s always the issue of his own sense of self. Despite the spell having been broken, he finds himself clinging to it, because he’d had no fear, no doubt, no insecurity. He didn’t have to question who he was. He didn’t have to run away. And sure, he’d questioned the extent of his abilities, evaluating every new encounter in contrast to his current capabilities, but he never wondered if he was good for much at all, even if it’s not like he knew what to do with the praise he got, either. He didn’t have to go to the extent the Yatagarasu would have ordered, if the organization existed, but at the same time, maintaining that delicate balance could be quite the tightrope walk if he’s not cautious.

        Then he smiles to himself, because he’s fooling absolutely no one, least of all himself. He’s been doing nothing but trying to talk himself out of it, trying to come up with every reason, every possible excuse he shouldn’t do this. When he’s going to go through with it, anyway, and the only question is what exact length of time he’s going to let himself go on before he admits it to himself.

        It’ll be a challenge, but...he happens to be Raidou Kuzunoha the XVIII, even if the title was only granted through magic. He’ll make this work.

Chapter Text

        Neither Xander nor Willow had been acting normally since Halloween. That wasn’t entirely unexpected; there’d been a lot of lingering weirdness since then. Buffy’s pretty sure she’d seen an old grandma push a city bus once before going back to hobbling across the streetwalk with her little cane. And there’s all the stuff about the tips and community patrolling and some people are still treating her like she’s their ruler and she catches herself planning a takeover of her city. Not that she doesn’t appreciate it, and it’s honestly very soothing to actually coordinate efforts like this and get a few nights off, even though Giles has apparently started to get worried, for some reason.

        But it’s gotten...weirder? Not that she wants to make a fuss about...some stuff. It’s an adjustment, that’s all. But Xander’s gotten a lot more respectful about the stuff he says and he’ll join in with the rating guys thing like he’d always been doing that, and it’s weird that it’s so normal. Probably the wiggiest part is that he’s being polite to Angel and acting as if he’s been doing that all along. At least if he’d apologized they wouldn’t feel like this was the Twilight Zone.

        It’s just that...they’d put all this energy into Buffy’s plan to get Xander’s attention using a secret admirer. There had been talk of letters and other stuff, and Willow just told her that wasn’t necessary, which, yeah, okay, maybe if she’d managed to get through to him just with the costume, that was one thing, but they don’t actually seem like they’re dating, and yet Willow’s fine and not mopey or despairing or anything anymore.

        So when she comes to school and Willow just tackle-hugs her, Buffy’s only sort of prepared. And actually manages not to slam her into the wall. Too hard.

        “Uh, Willow? What’s up?” She’s a little sheepish about that. And Willow’s crying, which just makes her feel worse.

        “Xander’s in the hospital!” ...Oh. Okay, so that wasn’t about the manhandling. Womanhandling. Whatever.

        “From a patrol, or?” This is kind of why she’d been against the idea of Xander handling sharp objects in the first place, not that she was going to actually say any of that when he’d already seemed upset enough about Giles being the voice of reason.

        There’s stares. Including Cordy, of all people. Willow glances around and then remembers to lower her voice. “No, apparently there’s a Council ‘Wetworks Team’ or something and they basically started seeing him as a threat, like, a bad influence on you, you know, so…” She draws a line across her throat and then starts crying again. “Angel saved him.”

        It’s a good thing sometimes that she’s the Slayer. Because she could be panicking, and she is more than a little bit right now, but there’s also Slayer Mode where she gets into the fixing (or staking) of problems and can postpone the actual freaking to later or never. Both Merrick and Giles had hinted that she was...really unusual, for a Slayer. Because she wasn’t under their control. And if there’s one thing a bunch of people like this love, it’s control. Maybe they’re not, strictly speaking, Big Bads, but the principle is the same. They’re just as bad as the Master.

        And okay, yeah, sure, they might have a bit of a point, because she’s still not sure about all this demon stuff and Xander is definitely throwing himself into harm’s way a little too much, but he’s also her friend, and if they think she’s just going to let them do this—

        Maybe they don’t. Maybe this is a last warning but they’re definitely planning on taking her out too. Or if they’re not now, they’ll change their minds. It’s only a matter of time. She’ll listen to Giles. Barely. But she’s not big on the taking orders part, and they’re big on the giving orders part, so there’s a mutual incompatibility there.

        “Come on,” she tells Willow, who stops crying abruptly even though she looks very, very confused.

        “Where are we going?” Cordy asks from behind them.

        “Giles, if you’re getting involved.” If she’s getting in the way, Buffy’s just going to shove her aside. She doesn’t have time for social dominance contests.

        Cordy just kind of...smiles? “You’re still giving the orders, Duchess.”

        Buffy rolls her eyes but allows the tag-along even as she storms down the hallway, not remotely bothered about appearances or anything else right now. Cordy’s bored, probably. And making fun, but she is actually maybe vaguely interested in helping.

        And Giles is in the library, talking to a guy in a suit, and they both have tea and British accents, so the Watchers are already here.

        And she’s just so very done. And she really wants to make a point. So she slams the guy’s head into the table. Cordy actually looks vaguely impressed. Giles is panicking. The Watcher isn’t dead, though, though he’s out cold. She might’ve just given him a concussion. She’d be all ‘whoops’ about it if not for the fact that she is not going to let them just dictate her life or take her friends from her like this.

        “Buffy, that was a fellow Watcher!” Like she didn’t know already.

        “He started it. Xander’s in the hospital. We are figuring out a way to make them back the hell off and leave us all alone, and you’re going to help out or I swear you’re joining him.” Giles does not seem to be processing and is a little in shock. Fine, whatever, he’s going to be useless for a bit.

        “You have to show them who’s boss. In this case, it’s a group, so you get your own clique together. You’re strong, Buffy, but if they don’t see that, they’re not going to back down.” Cordy sounds vaguely interested. Probably mostly like this is helping out her boredom, but. That’s also kind of useful.

        “Oh! Buffy, the Devil Summoners worked for the Yatagarasu! Maybe we could make it look like they’ve set up here!” Willow’s getting really excited about this, but…

        “The Yatawhosit? And Willow, that wasn’t real.” As hard as it is to remember sometimes, when she’s thinking about her city or her people or whatever.

        Giles sighs. At least he’s on the ‘cleaning his glasses’ part of things. “To clarify, Buffy, the Council has deployed their Wetworks team?”

        “Angel knew who they were, apparently,” Willow offers instead.

        It looks like Giles is making his decision, determination filling his face. Good. “If they’ve reached that stage, then any offers of negotiation are a mere façade. They won’t stop or change their minds unless they have a particularly compelling reason to do so—and Miss Chase is correct, for once. The only reason they would do so is if they believe it would be far too dangerous to themselves to do so.”

        Cordy looks smug up until the point of the dig, at which point she protests, “Hey!” No one’s listening to her though.

        “As long as we suggest the organization has different names at different periods, it should be simple enough to stitch together a tale, though we will need aid in that regard…” He sighs again. “Much as I don’t want to involve him, Ethan may be of some help.”

        “We’ll help too!” Buffy doesn’t remember this kid directly, just that he’s younger and volunteered for the community watch.

        “Nobody should be alone. How long before they try again?” The inside knowledge could wind up being super handy.

        “Twenty-four hours, at most. Likely four hours at the least. You confer with your ‘community watch’.” He’s already turning away to his books.

        Cordy thinks about it before shrugging. “I’ll help him. Go make sure the loser’s okay.” And from the look she gives Buffy, she’s offering to keep an eye on Giles, just in case he betrays them. Well, okay then. Willow is super grateful, smiling nice and wide at Cordelia, who busies herself with books Giles absent-mindedly hands her rather than interact with them any further.

Chapter Text

        Apparently, they’re not making everything up, which makes Buffy slightly less twitchy about this whole meeting thing. Historically, there were a group of Watchers who broke off from the Council and started calling themselves the Scholars. Buffy’s not exactly a fan of the name, but they can come up with something better later. Clearly Xander isn’t either; he prefers the Japanese name, but then, he’s been healed (magically) and is going to introduce himself as the Devil Summoner Raidou Kuzunoha the XVIII at the meeting. Which is going to tick them off and possibly provoke them, but they’d managed to dig up a whole lot of support in a short amount of time. How, she’s not exactly sure, though some of that commanding Duchess feel seems to have stuck around. Somehow.

        He apparently doesn’t have the Mag to summon a demon at the moment, but one of Ethan’s ‘acquaintances’ had volunteered to pose as Raidou’s demon. She hadn’t quite trusted the goddess until she’d learned that the whole reason Ethan knew the Red Mother was that she’d been hunting him, but was intrigued to find a chance to finally strike back against the Council. There’s some kind of history there that Buffy doesn’t know and isn’t sure she’ll find out. She also gets the weird feeling that this is some sort of audition and they might actually form a contract assuming Xander does well, but she’s not asking about that, either.

        He’s pale but determined, but when she apologizes he just smiles at her. “It was my choice. I figured this might happen.” He doesn’t elaborate on that, but that’s kind of worrisome, because it hadn’t occurred to her and maybe it should have. Sure, you could argue that it’s not the Slayer’s job to know about anything terrible that could ever happen anywhere, but that’s just the thing—it kind of is. So she’s just kind of got a new and shiny source of guilt instead.

        Ethan is...kind of disturbing. She’s pretty sure he’s been flirting with Giles, who has occasionally maybe been flirting back, but mostly treating him with even more of the resigned despair than he has for Buffy and Xander and Willow, sometimes, when they’re getting on his nerves. He is absolutely delighted at the idea of sticking it to the Council. Willow has been obsessively researching. Helpful, according to Giles, if worrying, but then, they all have enough to be worrying about and too little time to get any of that squeezed into the schedule, so. And then there’s the members of the Duchess’ Community Watch, who have all been given artifacts that Giles has been attempting not to show that he’s very alarmed by the fact Ethan even has them. They’re supposed to enhance their power in the eyes of the Council. Giles has kind of been grudgingly trusting him, so she assumes she should, too.

        She takes a deep breath before she opens the door, but a hand squeezes her shoulder reassuringly, and it’s Xander. He nods at her.

        And then, flanked by her new army, she opens the door to their future.

Chapter Text

Skill Order Nix, found at level 3, Skills: Dia, Bufu, Trample, will learn Marin Karin at a higher level, Investigation Skill: Transform/Demonstrate
The Nix is the male version of the Nixie in German folklore, a shapeshifting river horse known to play enchanted songs on his violin. While some are known to seduce and sometimes drown innocents, they are not always malicious.

Frost Order Encantado, found at level 4, Skills: Zio, Bufu, will learn Marin Karin at a higher level, Investigation Skill: Cool Down. Weak to Agi skills.
The Encantado is a shapeshifting river dolphin found in the Amazon that wears a hat to avoid her blowhole being discovered and therefore humans seeing through her disguise. These playful spirits enjoy human social activities and may, if befriended, use their powers, such as control of the weather, on behalf of humans.

Pyro Order Žiburinis, found at level 7, Skills: Maragi, Pulinpa, Frenzy, will learn War Cry, Investigation Skill: Ignite. Weak to Garu skills.
The Žiburinis is a Lithuanian vengeful forest spirit which often appears as a glowing skeleton, or one with a candle inside its rib cage. Encountering one is bad luck, but one can make it through the encounter by greeting it and being polite.

Fury Order Al Karisi, found at level 10 (technically, beyond Raidou’s level), Skills: Combo, Venomstrike, Vile Storm, Stamina Chakra, Investigation Skill: Use Force.
Al Karisi from Turkic folklore is known as the Red Mother and will torment those with guilty souls, haunting them in their dreams and weakening them. She is especially prone to visit families with a legacy of sin who have escaped their punishment.