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TTH Drabbles

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Willow scowled, kicking the flat tire. She was supposed to be turning in her report to the office in Bath, by now, the last thing to do before her vacation started. She fought the urge to transport herself there by magic. It would be so easy to use just a little bit of magic to get herself home.… She wrapped her jacket tighter around herself to ward off the evening chill, and scanned the back country road. No cars in sight, though there was a farmhouse—

She flung herself back into the hedge, narrowly avoiding getting run over by a maniac purple triple-decker bus that had appeared out of nowhere, reeking of magic. The door opened.

"Well?" said a pimply man in a ratty uniform. "Where ya headed?" Behind him, an even more decrepit driver ignored her while a shrunken head gave her a sardonic grin.

"Excuse me?"

"Yer a witch, aintcha? You need transportation? Where ya headed?"

Willow cautiously sent out a tendril of power. He didn't feel like a demon, or evil.

"We don't got all day, y'know," the man said impatiently.

With a last glance back at her car, Willow stepped aboard. "Bath, please. The Watcher's Council."

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"Isn't the air lovely tonight, Miss Maria?" Dru cooed to a twig she'd wrapped in a bit of cloth. "Sweet perfume."

Spike winced as she began pouring tea out of an imaginary pot into an imaginary cup. There was crazy, and there was high, and he always hated dealing with Dru after she'd eaten a hippie, especially when he hadn't.

"Looks promising," he said as a multicolored bus pulled over across from them. But the first man off the bus was tall, black, muscled, and a vibe that screamed 'not human.' He looked at Spike and frowned.

"Guess not, then."

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Buffy flung herself out of the way, amulet clutched to her chest, as the tall blue demons with white hair and a messed-up face shot an energy blast at her. "Dammit, Willow, where's that portal?" she snarled under her breath. This was supposed to be a quick grab of an important mystical artifact from a dimension that didn't have demons.

One of the horde was thrown backwards by an explosion as a big metal cylinder shimmered into view. A hatch opened. "Come on!" said a cute guy in camouflage. "We'll take you to Atlantis, where it's safe!"

Buffy jumped aboard.

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"I need to control my vices, they say." Londo sloshed his drink around in his cup. Adira had left earlier that day; Vir had said nothing, and Londo had no friends to call to bemoan his loss with, because—"I will never get anywhere unless I give up this unhealthy fascination with romance, they say. You have three respectable wives, you represent your family, you need to keep up appearances. Just keep a girl on the side in private. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgment. Pah!" His two beautiful dancing girls, the one he had just lost and the one lost long ago because of family honor. He threw back another swallow of … he had forgotten what he was drinking.

His drinking companion—a strange, blond human—shook his head. "Y'love the girl y'love, you treat her right, and to hell with the rest." He poured more drink into his cup with a steadiness that Londo could only admire, considering how much the two had drunk that night. "Sodding pansies. Too 'fraid of maybes and losing face to admit they got it all arse-backwards. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it."

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Lilah drew on the experience of hundreds of delicate negotiations for cool unconcern as the magical "bug" she had just set insinuated itself into Ms. Weaver's … interesting office building. "I'm very sorry, Ms. Weaver. I'm afraid Wolfram and Hart is quite busy at the moment, and not interested in ZeiraCorp's business. Substantial though it would be."

"That's unfortunate," Weaver said.

Being on the side of good was an odd feeling, Lilah reflected as she left to arrange for the information she'd gathered to be given to the Connors. But Wolfram and Hart disapproved of any apocalypse they weren't behind.

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A year after Superman disappeared, Lois was back at work (though only part time). Perry put her on a puff piece; she set him straight. Lois Lane was a mommy, but still the best reporter at the Planet.

Which was how she ended up a week later at a cemetery in the middle of the night on the trail of a series of grave-robbings, watching in disbelief as a young girl took on an honest-to-God vampire, and won.

"You okay?" the girl asked, brushing dust off her hands.

"Yeah," Lois said. "But Perry's never going to believe this."

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It was D.G.'s first Dorothy Day in the O.Z., the first since the Sorceress' reign of terror had ended, and it was one hell of a party. "What's the occasion, again?" she asked, watching the festivities.

"Anniversary of Dorothy of the Ruby Slipper's appearance in the O.Z.," Cain replied. "And of her defeat of both the Witches of the day. Dropped a house on one, melted the other. Took her a week."

"Wow," D.G. said. "Quick work."

The wind blew up out of a calm sky, just like the night she was transported to the O.Z. D.G. looked over at her mother, then at Azkadellia, the only two she knew who could create such a storm; both looked concerned.

The partiers, realizing something was happening, stopped their revelry. Soon, a tornado touched down, and people ran screaming as party decorations took to the air. Then it was over, and the sky was clear again. The storm had passed, leaving behind a brunette in clothes D.G. might have seen on television back home. They're certainly not from the O.Z.

The girl sat up. "Where am I?"

"You're in the O.Z.," D.G. replied. "Who are you?"

"Cordelia Chase. Is that near L.A.?"

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"How long have we been sitting here?" Xander asked, bored beyond all endurance. Sure, his uncle's cabin was pretty, but it was also pretty boring. It was Minnesota! There wasn't even a TV! And the mosquitoes were about the size of airplanes. Xander was grateful to have a few weeks away from his parents with the only semi-sane relative he had, but not if he was going to die of boredom. Even if they only fished today….

"'Bout three hours," Uncle Jack said, lazily casting again at the lake.

Xander frowned. "There are no fish in this lake, are there?"

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Once the ritual was stopped and the group of demons who'd been trying to use Dawn as a key to open a dimensional rift had fled, Dawn turned to her mysterious rescuer. "Thanks. How'd you find me? And how'd you get here in time?" Buffy and the others probably didn't even know she'd been taken, yet.

"Oh, it was nothing, really," he said. "I was on my way from third century d'Garanbeth to forty-second century Raxacoricofallapatorius when the TARDIS picked up someone tampering with the Time Vortex, and not in a good way. Stopped by to see what was happening."

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After the last demon was killed or fled, Buffy turned to the other girl who'd turned up in the nick of time. She wasn't a slayer, that much was obvious.

"So, Wonder Girl," Buffy said. "Thanks for the help." It was the first time a superhero had ever shown up in Sunnydale. Unless Buffy herself counted, as the Slayer? She paused, eyeing the other girl's outfit. "You really fight in red and gold spandex with most of your skin exposed?"

"Yes," Wonder Girl replied. "You really fight in high heels?"

"Hey, you can do a lot of damage with heels."

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"Go home, Xander, we don't want you to get hurt." Xander fumed. It was humiliating, being sent home from a fight by girls, even a slayer and witch. He paused, his eye drawn to a flash of something lying on the ground off to one side. It was a ring; green. He picked it up and slipped it on, despite years of experience with cursed artifacts telling him to be wary.

It glowed. And he heard:

"In brightest day, in darkest night,
No evil shall escape my sight.
Let those who worship evil's might,
Beware my power—Green Lantern's light!"

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"So, how come I often see you when people die?" Xander asked the strawberry-blonde he'd tracked down and cornered. "You touch them, and a few minutes later they die from unrelated things." Vampire bites, demon attacks, car accidents—in one memorable case, tripping onto a sword during a battle in a cemetery.

"You must have me confused with someone else," the girl said. "My name is George; I work in an office. I'm pretty boring, really."

"No, it's you, all right," Xander said. "What kind of demon are you?"

"Demon?" George said, offended. "I'm not a demon. I'm a reaper."

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"So, you're an alien?" Xander said, bemused, staring at the guy's ears. "Met a lot of demons, but you're my first alien."

"I am a Vulcan," the other man said. "My name is Mestral. I came from a planet many light-years from Earth. I am not a creature of soulless evil, found in your mythology."

"Hey, I grew up on a Hellmouth. Demons are no myth, Mestral. Not all of them are evil, though. So, did you come here on a spaceship?" Xander couldn't contain his enthusiasm. A spaceship! Alien!

"I did," Mestral said. "It crashed. What is a Hellmouth?"

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"So you say you're from Earth?"

"Yes," Buffy said, "I'm from Earth. No, Doctor Weir, I can't tell you how I got here." It'd been a long day. Once the Jumper that had rescued her from the Wraith-demons had gotten to Atlantis, they'd wanted to know where her home was. They hadn't believed the answer, even after she'd told them what was happening on Passions.

A portal appeared to her left, reality swirling around it. "That's my ride!" Buffy said. She dove through. "What took so long?" she said to Willow, handing over the amulet she'd been sent to retrieve.

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Buffy stared down at the thing she'd just killed. If 'killed' was the word; metal poked through flesh in several places. In some ways, it had been like fighting Adam, that same machine-like calculation and that same economy of movement. "What is it?" she asked.

The dark-haired woman who'd shot it with the big gun walked up next to her. Her shots had slowed it down enough for Buffy to handle. "Terminator. A killing machine sent from the future to kill certain people and make sure the future happens the way it wants. What are you?"

"I'm the Vampire Slayer."

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Buffy looked down at the ground, and saw her own body staring up at her. It was dead, the eyes glassy. No medical treatment could save it. She turned to the cloaked figure with the scythe. "What happens next?"


Buffy smiled. "Heaven." She was sad to leave Dawn and her friends, and would have spared them the grief of losing her if she could, but couldn't regret dying. Not when she knew what happened next.


"Let's go," she said, confident that this time, she would be allowed to stay.

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Angel still owns the Hyperion, when all is said and done. Angel stays away; as the only survivor of their last stand besides Lorne who won't talk with him, he can't stand to see it. He goes to Britain, wanders around for a few years. Not many demons to fight. Aliens are a bit of a change, one he welcomes.

In Cardiff he meets a man called Jack fighting aliens called Weevils. Once the Weevils have been killed or subdued, he and Jack go out to get drunk.

"To old friends we've outlived," Jack says. "May they never be forgot."

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Daniel was always happy when he could bring books back from offworld. They were expensive, given that the printing press was unknown. Handwritten, handcrafted, they were works of art apart from the wealth of information they contained. He saw that they were scanned, digitized, and categorized for easy reference, the originals stored safely away in a climate-controlled room awaiting the day the SGC went public and they could be displayed and appreciated.

This one was in Ancient. "To every generation is born a Slayer," he translated. "She alone will stand against the demons and the darkness." Hm. Fiction or mythology.

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Spike didn't get nostalgic often; now that he was human—Shanshu—a lot of his life as a demon was pretty horrible to look back on. He did his best not to think about it, much. Easier said than done; he didn't fit in the human world much better now that he was one than he had while he'd been a demon.

He liked diners. People, but not many. Sol's had good food, too. And the new waitress—Val—seemed nice enough.

"What can I get you, hon?"

Spike thought about human contact without expectations. "Hot chocolate. With little marshmallows."

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"Kevin! You're early! Kevin! Over here!"

Xander hated airports. He'd seen too many in his time as a Slayer-finder. Too much noise and confusion. He was tired, worn, had a dehydration headache threatening to descend.

"Kevin? What's up, my darling?" The loud blonde grabbed his arm, and it took effort to keep his reflexes from taking over and flattening her. Not a demon, not a human out to kill slayers, just a woman in an airport.

"I think you've got the wrong guy, lady," he said, facing her.

She recoiled at the sight of his patch. "Yeah, no kidding. Sorry."

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"Spike! Oh, my God—you Shanshu'd!"

John Hart smirked at the short woman. Shanshu must be some twenty-first-century slang he didn't know, but he was an experienced Time Agent—he'd figure it out. He didn't recognize her; she sure seemed to know him. Must be crossing timelines.

"Hello, gorgeous," he said, eyeing her figure. A hot blonde—lots of energy. 'Jack' should recruit her for his team.

She hit him. Harder than human-normal. An alien?

"Ow," he said, rubbing his chest.

"I still haven't forgiven you for letting me think you were dead."

"Let me make it up to you."

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Methos surveyed the pub . He'd lived this long through caution. Most people looking for disgraced Watchers were either Watchers or Immortals. The man he was meeting was neither. He walked to the right booth, sat down.

"I thought I knew all the families. I don't know you." Rupert Giles was middle-aged, scars and lines, moved like a warrior.

"Sometimes even the Watchers recruit fresh blood," Methos replied.

"Read this." An ancient book was slid across the table. A test? Methos hadn't seen the dialect in millennia. In every generation is born…

He slid it back. "Wrong kind of Watcher."

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Willow double-checked everything—they needed a weapon that could kill serpents with lightning bolts, and the Norse god Thor was their best bet to get one in time. But summoning gods was tricky business.

Yup, everything was set up right. The translation was as accurate as it was going to get. She lit the fire and began to chant.

When the smoke cleared, she frowned. She'd been expecting, well, something that looked like a big Viking. Maybe like that troll Anya used to date. What went wrong?

The alien standing before her narrowed his eyes. "How did I get here?"

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Willow stared in awe. The coven said she was doing well enough with her rehab to be trusted to go to buy supplies with her mentor, so here they were in the largest community of magic-users—witches and wizards—in Great Britain. Sunnydale had nothing like Diagon Alley! They had promised her that if she was good and learned what they taught, she would be able to come here on her own! She couldn't wait to explore every nook and cranny.

Distracted, she ran into someone. "Sorry!" she said to the aristocratic blond.

"Watch where you're going, Weasley," he sneered.

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"You haven't killed a human in two centuries, and you start by killing a bloody politician, one the whole soddin' galaxy knows?" Spike lit a cigarette. "Now we're stuck in the cargo hold of a ship bound for God knows where—hopefully somewhere your little stunt hasn't been playing on every computer screen on a repeating loop."

"You didn't have to come," Angel said grumpily.

"And if you go on a rampage, who'd stop you, then?"

"I'm not evil! It was an easy mistake. He's a powerful politician, he looks just like the mayor, what was I supposed to think?"

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The girl had to be a meta, Flash realized, watching her kick the ass of the alien invaders. I mean, woah. No normal human had that kind of reflexes, that kind of strength. That kind of height on her jumps—she'd just vaulted a dumpster, pursuing her quarry.

Between the two of them, it took seconds to finish the invaders off.

"Thanks." She brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"You want to join the Justice League? You're obviously a meta, you kicked ass, we'd love to have you."

"No thanks. I already have a superhero team. And a mission."

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Since the fall of the Colonies, the Eight had been having strange dreams—monsters, human girls, history. Mystical things. Since she wasn't a Two, it freaked her out.

"Into every generation she comes," said the Hybrid. "Death is a gift. Course correction …"

The eight went to Caprica, threw herself into the rebuilding. Maybe work would exhaust her, stop the dreams. It didn't. She found herself working longer, harder, than her sisters.

"What is wrong with you?" a Four asked. "You're lifting loads that should need a Centurion, or two."

She had no answer. She hadn't noticed.

At night, she lay staring at the ceiling, until finally she rose and roamed the darkened streets, every sense, every muscle on edge.

Something was there, in the darkness—she ran towards it. One of her brothers, attacked by a human. Too strong for a human, but he wasn't a Cylon. What had happened to his face?

This part of the city hadn't burned. She grabbed a wooden railing, broke it off.

The human was biting her brother's neck. She hit the human, he went flying. There was blood on his mouth. She stabbed him with the railing. Instinct.

He turned to dust.

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"…I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might …"

It was true, they could hardly speak words the other understood, Katherine thought, but for the most part King Henry seemed content not to try. Though she liked that he was trying to win her favor; he did not need to. She had always known she must marry for France; she had hoped to have more of a choice, though.

If she told him what she was, a Slayer, faster, stronger, a better fighter than he, would this proud soldier-king change his mind?

No. She had a duty.

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Kermit knew he shouldn't have said it the second it left his mouth.

"I'll show you porky. HIIIII-YAH!"

You know, he thought, even Miss Piggy's karate kicks usually weren't strong enough to send someone through a wall. Not a brick wall, anyway.

"Oh! Oh! Kermie, my love, are you alright? Speak to moi!" She was leaning over him, removing the rubble that covered him.

"I'm fine, Miss Piggy," Kermit said, sitting up. "Have you been working out?"

She hesitated. "I've been having weird dreams. When I can't sleep I go play with Sweetums and his friends. They like fighting."

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Shame Diana and Sheila weren't here, Val thought. It was right up their alley. They'd get a kick out of seeing their favorite movie come to life.

Also, they'd have known real quick that a weird guy offering them 'the role of a lifetime!' if they'd just wear special dancing shoes—red shoes—was a bit fishy.

Last but not least, Sheila would at least offer her a valium, which after dancing for ten hours straight Val could really use.

A girl burst into the room with a sword, and attacked the weird guy. Looks, 4, Val thought. Moves, 12.

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"Seriously, Willow, we're in the middle of an apocalypse, bad guys surrounding us, no slayer close, and your response is to curse them to dance?" Xander shook his head. "For a minute I thought the singing demon was back!"

"It worked, didn't it?" Willow said defensively. "They were so busy dancing they couldn't kill us. I'm trying to balance my magic use to keep from going all veiny again. Non-lethal spells are of the good."

"So where did you find this Tarantula spell?" Buffy asked.

"It's 'Tarantallegra,' Willow said. "Some old spell book I found in this really weird alley."

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The Immortal knew everyone, Buffy thought as Bruce Wayne oozed towards her.

"Hey, babe, wanna dance?"

Buffy looked him up and down. No spidey-sense. "Sure," she said, shrugging.

"You know, your disguise could use some work," she said out on the floor. Her boyfriend had anti-snooping spells; no one could hear them or read their lips. "I'm not the only one to notice."

"Sorry, disguise?"

"Your words and movements are slurred, and you smell of booze, but your eyes are tracking. You're not drunk, but you want people to think you are. In fact, you've been watching who comes and goes very carefully. So since this is my party, I wanna know: what are you looking for?"

"I'm not looking for anything, except a good time, babe," Wayne said with a really smarmy leer.

"Sorry, not buying it," Buffy said. "Here's the deal. You can do all the intrigue you want, so long as nobody gets killed; it wouldn't be the Immortal's party without skulking in the bushes. But don't treat me like an idiot."

"Fair enough," Wayne said, with a genuine smile. "My cover's thin? Better shore it up. Sorry."

He grabbed her ass. She knocked him on his.

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"And I'm telling you, Angel, she's a demon," Cordelia said. "Perfect moves, but no soul."

"Cordelia, being a bad dancer doesn't make someone a demon," Angel said.

"She's not a bad dancer, that's what I said!" Cordelia had been talking since coming back from her latest audition (a music video). "Her moves are perfect! But it's like watching a robot!"

"All right, I'll check her out," Angel said.

The next day, he was at the studio to watch the slender brunette. "You're right," he told Cordelia. "No soul." He sniffed. "I smell metal and plastic, not magic. Not our problem."

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It could be worse, Miss Piggy reflected. The dreams were disgusting. She'd never wanted to know Sweetums and his friends that closely, but they really were nice guys, and very understanding when she needed to karate-chop someone into a wall. Also, they had started coming to her for fashion advice, and Piggy loved being appreciated. The British dude who tried to harangue her into fighting demons at night was annoying—she'd get slimy! Maybe break a nail! And she liked Sweetums!

The music swelled, and Piggy took her cue, vaulting onstage to thunderous applause. But her dancing now was divine!

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Willow stepped off the bus, glad to be back on firm ground. Served her right for getting on an obviously magical artifact she knew nothing about, driven by people she didn't know. (Although she hoped she and Giles could check out that interesting pub the bus had stopped at.)

The bus screeched off behind her, and was gone. Willow grabbed her bag and headed in to her apartment, flopping down on the couch once she was inside. Her broken-down car was (presumably) still in the road where she'd left it. Tomorrow, she'd send a watcher in training to collect it.

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"So why does Wonder Woman need my help?" Buffy asked, skeptically. She eyed the woman in the bustier up and down.

"Ares has sent demonic beasts to besiege my homeland of Themiscyra," Wonder Woman said. "I alone cannot defeat them, and men are forbidden on Themiscyra. You are a woman warrior of great power and skill, and also knowledge of demonic beasts. Together, we can free my people."

Buffy shrugged. "The Hellmouth's quiet. Let's go find out from Giles what the beasts are and how to kill them. You'll have to deal with Ares, but demon beasts I can do."

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" There was no parking anywhere! I think that hydrant wasn't there!"

Sweetums wandered around Sunnydale. Unlike most places outside the Theater, nobody gave him a second glance. There were monsters all around. And people were singing and dancing! It was just like home, only without Kermit and Miss Piggy to boss him around. He liked the frog and the pig, but sometimes it was annoying to answer to someone you could eat in one bite. (Well, maybe two for Miss Piggy.)

He'd have to tell the guys. It wasn't home, but it sure was a great place to vacation!

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" … Timey-wimey stuff, mixed with the volatility of a dimensional rift. And not any ordinary dimensional rift, either, more like a great big bowl of dribbles of rifty castoffs …"

Buffy sometimes felt guilty for tuning out Giles, or not understanding him. After all, Giles was very smart and knew a lot, and tried hard to help her be smart and know a lot. And if you knew all the stuff Giles did, he was probably very understandable.

She didn't feel guilty now. This guy might be smart and powerful, but he was also nuts. And she was pretty sure that what he was saying didn't actually make any sense.

"Doc. Bottom line. Can you get me home?"

He stopped and adjusted his glasses. "As I was saying, time and space go a bit wibbly in that place. With the aftershocks of a superpowered being such as yourself travelling through it with no protection or guidance—"

"My friends think I'm dead, my sister thinks I'm dead and will probably have to go to social services. Sunnydale may literally go to hell. Can. You. Get. Me. Home?"

He smiled and flipped a lever on the weird table. "Oh, yes."

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A huge, scaly shape crashed down in front of Angel, smoke flaring from its nostrils. He leapt back and felt his back touch the brick of the building behind him. He had no sword, and vampires were highly flammable.

"You will send me home," the dragon said.

"What?" Angel asked.

"You will send me home. Your battle with the very nasty lawyers was what brought me here. If I'd known what was going on, I would have set them on fire! They tore open a crack between our two worlds, and I fell through. I want to go home. It's your fault that I'm here. My captain is not here! I want Granby!"

"Where are you from? Who are you?"

"I am Iskierka, of His Majesty's Aerial Corps," she said, "and I was fighting Napoleon before I was brought here, and I want to go back and fry his troops!"

"I was there during the Napoleonic wars," Angel said, shoving down memories of carnage. "There weren't any dragons."

"Not in this world," Iskierka said. "There are a lot of dragons in mine. You will send me home."

Angel blinked. "All right," he said. "I'll … see what I can do."

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"As hell dimensions go, this is a pretty nice one," Buffy said. Trees and green plants, and nothing had tried to eat her yet. And humans, a good sign.

"I beg your pardon?" said the woman, Morwen. Her cats shared her disgust. "This is not a hell dimension, this is the Enchanted Forest. It's quite a nice place to live, as long as you're not stupid and follow the rules. You're obviously dimensionally displaced, but if you're going to be rude, I don't know that I should help you."

"Can you get me home?"

"My husband Telemain and I can."