Chapter 2: From Oz to Sunnydale

Wesley watched his best friends as they lay together on Cordelia’s bed. As they fell asleep, Angel began to breathe reflexively. Then, as sleep deepened, Wesley heard Cordelia’s breathing grow deeper and more regular as Angel’s slowed, then ceased entirely.

The bedroom door opened, and a cup of hot coffee (cream and two sugars) floated over to Wesley.

"Thank you, Dennis," said the ex-Watcher. In the magic-heavy air, he could almost see the ghost standing there, looking worried. "It won’t be long now. Once they’ve started dreaming . . ."

***

Someone was tugging Cordelia’s hand. For a moment, she heard voices around her, old friends and rivals all talking at once. One voice cut through.

"Cordelia."

It was Angel, holding her right hand. "Are you here?" he asked.

She looked around. "I think so."

She didn’t recognize where "here" was. It seemed like they were inside a perfectly enormous room whose walls she couldn’t see very well. In front of them, and to the right a little, there was someone sitting in a chair. They walked toward whoever it was.

The woman was tall, slim, with dark hair and caramel-colored skin. Her eyes were closed, her face set in an expression of pain and fear, and she was utterly still. Cordelia recognized her at once.

"I saw her in my vision," the Seeress said. "Anita Martinez."

"Then we’re in the right place," Angel concluded.

Cordelia shook her head. Knowledge she didn’t know she had was manifesting in her mind. "No, not quite right. We’ve got to go someplace first. There’s a place where this starts, and a place where it ends."

"So where do we start?" asked Angel.

"I find the beginning is usually a good place to start," answered a voice from behind them. It was a familiar voice, very gentle and dry. They turned to behold Oz.

"Oz," said Cordelia. "The total embodiment of all things Sunnydale."

"Exactly," acknowledged Oz.

"Oz." Angel stepped forward. "You’re here, too?"

Oz shook his head. "Not here. I’m just your guide for this leg of the journey."

"Okay," Angel said. "Guide us."

"It starts right here," said Oz. And they were at the Bronze.

Cordelia was sitting at a table, holding court with the Cordettes. Suddenly, she spotted a man across the room, and promptly decided she had to have him. Tall, dark, gorgeous, older—obviously just her type. She started making her way toward him. Then she stopped.

"That’s Angel," she murmured. "I just saw him for the first time."

"It’s the beginning." Oz was standing beside her again. Angel spotted them and came over. He was wearing the same black pants, white shirt, and black jacket he’d been wearing the first time they met, and Cordelia was in her party dress. "You two would never have guessed where you would end up on this night."

"I didn’t even notice her," admitted Angel.

Cordelia shrugged, not minding. "It’s okay. You were just something to be had for me. So why the trip down memory lane?"

"Dreams speak in the language of memories," said Oz cryptically. "Come on. There’s more to do here."

They left the Bronze and found themselves at Sunnydale High School. Students filled the halls, moving from class to class. Angel stopped by a sunny window with an expression of wonder. He was now wearing his typical dark clothing with long trenchcoat, and Cordelia was in figure-hugging blue jeans and a fashion top.

"Do you dream the sun?" he asked Cordelia.

"Mostly," she answered. "You don’t?"

He shook his head. "Not after all this time."

Then, very softly, Cordelia heard singing. It was a child’s voice, high and pretty, and the tune was almost familiar, but not quite. She couldn’t hear the words.

Angel had gone very still. His face held an expression of pain, and his eyes were closed. "No," he said very softly.

Oz looked at him seriously. "Are you ready?"

"No," Angel repeated. "I can’t face that. Not yet."

The werewolf nodded sagely. "I thought not. Time to go on."

Angel took one last look out the window, and they both continued on their way after Oz. It was a familiar trip to both of them.

The doors to the library opened, but it wasn’t the same library they remembered. The room was cavernous now, doubled or tripled in size, and filled top to bottom with books. They both gaped at it.

"Giles would have an orgasm," Cordelia commented.

"Lot of knowledge here," Oz agreed. "You’ll need some."

As if on cue, Giles, Xander, Willow, and Buffy all emerged from the stacks and gathered around a table.

"Where have you three been?" asked Giles.

"You should stay here," offered Buffy. "We’ve got lots of stuff here. Books, weapons, and plenty of evil to fight."

"Can’t," said Angel. "Cordelia and I have a demon lord to face. Agragon."

"Oh, my." Giles removed his glasses in a familiar gesture. "Yes, I can see where that might take you away. What do you need?"

"What do you have?" asked Angel.

"Books and weapons, mostly," said Giles.

"We need both."

"Well . . ." Giles opened a book. "You should know that when you face the demon lord, you must be settled with all that is and has been. He will feed your uncertainties, your anxieties, your regrets. Let go of what has been."

"Thanks, Yoda," Cordelia said dryly.

Buffy walked over to the library cage, which she unlocked, and opened the weapons cabinet. She drew out a large battle-axe. "You should take this," she told Angel. "It’s the best I can do, I think."

Quietly, the Slayer bore the axe over to Angel. He accepted it, tucking it into the holster under his trenchcoat.

"Thank you," he said.

Buffy looked him long in the face. "You’re really leaving now, aren’t you?" Her voice was sad, but accepting.

His face, too, grew sad. "I have to. But neither of us knows what will be."

She seemed less sad at that. "No. We don’t." Buffy looked at Cordelia. "And you’ll be with him?"

"To the end."

That reassurance seemed to satisfy Buffy, for she moved away, smiling. "Don’t lose touch."

With that, the library was empty and back to its original size.

Oz moved in front of Angel and Cordelia, face pensive. "I’ve got a key for you. We all will."

"All our guides, you mean?" asked Angel.

"Yes." The werewolf gathered his thoughts, as was his wont. "My key is, it’s all dreams in here. You can change most things. Remember that."

"Free your mind," Cordelia deduced.

"Something like that." Oz started toward the library doors. "Come on. One last event, and I’ll be finished."

They walked out of the library and instantly into the night air. Cordelia shivered, walking ahead of Angel.

"Sunnydale night dreams," she said. "Never a good thing."

Suddenly, Angel grabbed her from behind and buried his fangs in her neck.

***

Wesley paced the room, making certain the candles stayed lit and watching over his sleeping friends. He’d noticed the rapid eye movement starting about ten minutes ago. They were on the dream plane. All there was now was the waiting.

And then, abruptly, Angel’s face vamped out. At the same moment, Cordelia’s body spasmed violently. Wesley jumped to the side of the bed, making certain not to disturb the spell-sand. Hastily, he lit the candle at the head of the bed, the one for warding off evil dreams.

"Hold on, you two," he muttered through his worry. "Please, hold on."

***

Cordelia cried out with pain as the fangs lanced into her. Angel’s arms were locked around her as tight and unbreakable as metal bands.

"Oz!" she screamed.

The werewolf’s calm voice drifted over. "It’s dreams," he reminded her. "It’s all dreams."

It’s all dreams, she repeated to herself. I can change it. I can . . .

She was dizzy by now, hearing Angel gulping down her life’s blood.

No. I can stop this. He won’t kill me.

"Angel," she whispered. "Angel, we can change this. It doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t want it to be this way."

No response.

"Angel?" Whatever pain there had been was over. There was euphoria now, a strange and dangerous ecstasy. "Angel, it’s not too late. Please, Angel. It’s not too late. We can change this . . ."

And as abruptly as he’d seized her, Angel released her. She fell to the ground, gasping. There was a wound at her neck. Cordelia thought about it a moment, then decided it wasn’t real. And it wasn’t. She turned to look at Angel.

He was backing slowly away from her, horror in his eyes. There was blood on his mouth and hands. Cordelia stood swiftly, realizing that no damage had truly been done.

"I . . ." Angel gasped, shaking. "I killed you."

"No." Cordelia looked at him steadily. "No, we changed that. It’s dreams, Angel. It’s all dreams. I’m fine. See?" She exposed her neck to him.

He was still shaking, and the blood on his hands was still there. He shook his head. "But it happened."

"In a dream. A nightmare."

"Not mine."

Cordelia puzzled over that briefly. "Mine, then. Look, it’s okay. Just get over it. We’ve got miles to go."

Angel seemed to steady, and he drew inward just for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, the blood was gone. "It’s dreams," he repeated.

"All dreams," Cordelia concurred. She offered him her right hand, which he took.

"I’m sorry," he said.

"Water under the bridge," she dismissed. "Just keep your fangs to yourself from now on, okay?"

"You two finished?" It was Oz’s voice, ultra-blasé.

Cordelia looked at Angel, who nodded. "We’re done here."

"Good." Oz cocked his head, then nodded, as if what he saw met with his approval. "I’ll be leaving now. Your next guide will be waiting."

"Thanks, Oz," said Angel.

"Who’s our next guide?" wondered Cordelia.

Oz looked disapproving. "Personally, I find him atrocious."

And with that, he was gone.