The Return, Prologue B

From: "Little Slayer" <>

Author: Little Slayer
Title:  The Return
Distribution:  Anyone can have it.  Just ask.
Rating: PG.
Author’s Note:  Sequel to The End.
Feedback:  If you don’t send feedback, I’ll sick Faith on you like a dog
on a bone.  Or in her case a dog on a…okay, I’m not going to finish
that, but you all get the point.  Actually, no, I can't sick her on you
because of one really important reason…
Disclaimer:  I don’t own him!  Uh, her.  Or Buffy, Angel, Giles, Willow,
Joyce, and everyone else.  They’re all in here.  I don’t own Angel’s
nickname of Peaches.  The only thing I own is Mya.  She’s mine.  I
created her.  And so I can easily destroy the skanky little…uh, oops.
All the Buffyverse people belong to Joss Whedon and anyone else who
legally owns them.  Anybody who has been either A) mentioned on BtVS, or
B) seen on BtVS, I don’t own.  I do own a few people but am too tired to
name them.

“Go home.”
        “Precisely.  You do this, you’ll keep up with training, learn new
techniques.  And hey, how many Slayer’s can say they went to hell and
made friends?”
        “How many want to?”
        “Fine, but please Buffy, give it a try.  It’ll help pass the days.  And
you might be here for a while.”  Buffy thought for a moment and then
        “Fine, I’ll do it.”
        “Great.  Tell Angelus you agreed and he’ll set you up with a place and
anything else you may need.  Oh, some general information.  You won’t
age, so don’t worry.  And that whole being female time, won’t happen.
You’re body has basically stopped like that.  It can be damaged, but you
will not be able to die.  So don’t worry.”  Crenshaw smiled and Buffy
rose out of her seat.  Feeling somewhat sick, she made her way out into
the lobby where Angelus was waiting and looked at him.
        “Okay, yup, this is defiantly hell,” she muttered.  “Well Dead-Boy,
let’s go.”  Angelus glared at her for using Xander’s nickname.
        “Don’t call me Dead-Boy,” he muttered.
        “Well then, what should I call you?  The Really Annoying Person?  No,
that wouldn’t work, not a person.”  Buffy smirked up at Angelus, which
he matched with one of his own.
        “Angelus will work fine,” he replied.  “C’mon, let’s get you situated,
then I’ll give you a tour.”


        Buffy rolled out of bed and got dressed, smiling as she remembered the
rest of that day.  Now, it had been nearly three hundred years and
Crenshaw was right.  She had made friends.  And in hell.  Go figure.
She walked out of her room and into the living room of the apartment she
shared with Angelus.
        “Good morning,” she said.  Angelus looked up from where he sat with his
arms folded across his chest.  “Keep that up, and I’ll swear they sent
Angelus to earth and left Angel here.  What’s up, Brood Boy?”
        “They want to retire me.  Send me somewhere else,” he blurted out.
Buffy sat down next to him and raised her eyebrow.
        “What do you mean?  Fire you?”
        “Something like that.”
        “Must be your stunning personality,” Buffy muttered and stood up.  She
was friends with him, she’d admit that.  But like him?  Not really.  She
could barely stand him.  And as three or four scars to his chest from
staking, he just won’t die.
        “This is serious Buffy.  Oh, by the way, Crenshaw said they may have
found your spell.”  Buffy stopped and looked at him.  “The only way I
can keep my job is if I go with you, help you save the world or some
bullshit like that.  I don’t want to save the world.  I want to stay
here and torture people.  It’s fun.”
        “Well, look at the bright side.  You can kill Mya for me.”
        “No, I can’t kill her.  Those are the rules.  I have to be like
Soul-Boy, or I get to be dust.”  Buffy glared down at him then let out a
long breath.
        “When?” she asked.
        “Tonight,” he replied.  Buffy turned away from him and went to look out
the window.  It wasn’t much of a view; there were a few other dwellings
for other officials of hell, then row after row of cages and chained
victims.  At first, it had really bothered people.  But then she
realized that they weren’t people who deserved pity.  Murderers,
rapists, demons, vampires.  None of them she felt sorry for, and some
she helped think of punishments for.  The way her humanity was slipping
from her scared her, but somehow didn’t bother her.
        “Well, is there a way to contact Whistler?” she asked.
        “Already done.  He knows when to perform the ritual, and he has a place
set up.  He’s working with Spike and Dru and the watcher’s council.
None of them want to release me, but I have no choice.  I want to keep
my job.”
        “I don’t think anyone will believe it,” she muttered quietly.
        “A Buffy-whipped Angelus,” she smirked at him.  Angrily, Angelus got up
and stood towering over Buffy.
        “I am not your damned lap dog.  Not like him.  I’m only doing my job,”
he hissed, his vampire visage melting into his handsome features.
        “Yeah, taking orders,” Buffy hissed.  “See ya later, Angelus.  I got
rounds to make.”  She blew him a mock kiss and left the apartment.
Angrily, Angelus sunk down and muttered obscene comments about Buffy.


        Angel sat up in bed.  He shook his head, confused.  This was the fifth
time in three days that he had, had dreams about Buffy in hell.  But
that was impossible.  She was dead.  Mya had told him so and she didn’t
have any reason to lie to him.  Did she?”

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