For I Have Touched the Sky
by Salatina

Disclaimer: Joss would never do this to his characters. Trust me. So, I'm not him, and therefore don't own this story. Have fun anyway.

A scream died in Willow's throat as she saw the splayed figure on the grass of her neighbor's yard. Her attention was drawn to a deep, bloody slash that ran from near the left temple and ended mid-way through the figure's chest, through which she could see the white tips of two broken bones. She dropped to her knees before the shadowed being, tears springing to her eyes.

"Oz! Oh no...no...not Oz...please, don’t let him die!" Willow frantically checked for a pulse on the furry neck of her werewolf boyfriend. Nothing. And yet... *There!* she thought, relief flooding through her body in an unstoppable wave. *Faint...but his heart is beating.*

Snuffing panic with the thought that it would do no good, she strained to remember the first aid training she'd received in seventh grade. Being friends with the Slayer and all the scrapes and abrasions that come along with the job had kept the training fresh in her mind, but, at that moment, it seemed to have abandoned her. More than a little desperate, she tore off a strip of her nightgown and pressed it over the worst area of Oz's wound, attempting to staunch the flow of blood.

She had been asleep in her room when she'd gotten the call from Giles. Willow had been very groggy, at first, having him repeat things two and three times before she actually heard them. But two little words from him cut through her sleepy haze, making her jerk awake in bed.

"Oz escaped," Giles told her, a little breathlessly. When she didn't say anything in response he asked, "Willow, are you there?"

Her jaw was living somewhere in the region of her feet, along with all conscious thought. When Willow's senses returned, they returned in a rush. "What?! How? Who was watching him? If Xander fell asleep, I'll... Did someone go after him?"

Trying to calm her -- an amazing feat, considering he was far from calm himself -- Giles hurriedly explained what had happened. Buffy had been on patrol, searching for Angelus, Giles studying in his office, and Xander watching the werewolf. Apparently, Oz had been anxious all night, pacing restlessly back and forth in his cage, growling and stiffing the air. Xander hadn't fallen asleep, had even been observant and considerate enough to ask Giles if he thought Oz's "case of the willies" was going to be a problem.

The Watcher came out of his office and looked at the skittish werewolf just as it had happened. Oz crouched in a corner, grumbling so deeply Xander could feel the floor vibrate, then sprang wildly at the door to the book cage. Giles and Xander jumped back in surprise -- then, when they recovered from the startling sight of two-hundred-or-so pounds of furry animal lunging at them, ran for the tranquilizer gun. But Oz was already making his second and third runs at the door, and the wiry metal groaned an objection. On his fourth attempt, he broke through, while Xander was still sighting the gun.

Letting loose a wild howl, Oz tore through the library towards the doors. Xander's shot went wide. Giles cursed, running after the furry Oz, though retaining enough sense to grab some tranquilizer darts for the gun first. Xander was only a pace or two behind him.

Oz seemed to be following a scent, for he stopped at sudden intervals to check the air. He found his way out of the school -- bypassing doors for a set of low windows, this time -- and burst into the quiet of the night. Xander and Giles, who were perhaps fifty feet behind the wolf, scrambled down the hall, saw the broken window, made the correct assumption, and jumped outside. They saw the gray form of Oz winding off into the distance several blocks away, and knew they would never catch him. The teen let out a shot in frustration.

"Damn," Giles muttered. Then he noticed exactly what direction Oz had been headed. "Xander! We need to call Willow!"

Less than five minutes later, Willow was running out of her house in her cotton nightgown, bare feet slapping on the dewy ground. She saw the dark figure of Oz battling with a larger, somehow blacker phantom. She wondered if it was this figure's scent that had made Oz so restless. Willow had just enough time for this thought before her werewolf boyfriend was cut down. And she had screamed...

...and kneeled, now, beside his furry, bloodied body, desperately trying to stop the flow of the precious liquid from his wounds. Her hands were now turning a deep red, growing sticky, as Willow tried to push his splintered ribs back in place. She forgot her sparse clothing, her sticky hands, her tousled hair -- everything, except the life of the sweet, loving man that she held in her hands. But there was one, little thing, pushing at the back of her mind by some instinct that she had developed in the time since discovering that the things that go bump in the night really do exist. Willow tried to shove it aside like all the other concerns, but it was persistent, nagging. As she felt a wispy hand on her shoulder, she remembered.

The phantom that had struck Oz down. It was still on her neighbor's lawn with them.

She whirled around and looked up into the face of death, for that's what she was sure it was. The entire creature was black and not very substantial. Willow could see the bushes behind it right through its 'body'. Its shape wasn't a constant, either, looking at one moment like a two-legged giant beetle, then changing into the form of a hungry vulture, then a nearly-starved bear. The head, she could only glance at before she had to look away. It was less a face than a hood, with dark red orbs for eyes. The nose was a shadow, a skull-like indentation that in no way resembled anything Willow would consider a proper nose. There was no mouth... simply an angry black maw that seemed to laugh and glower at the same time.

Then it launched itself straight at her. Her last instinct told her to bend over and protect Oz's bleeding form with her arms, before she felt the pressure of all-to-substantial talons at her throat. There was a wet sound, and warmth spread across her, starting at her collarbone. A hazy feeling floated over her mind, and Willow wondered if the creature had really struck her at all. She felt no pain.

Oz's werewolf fur made a good pillow, she thought, drifting a little. Maybe it was time to go to sleep. Yes, that was a good idea. Sleeping.

Time to... Sleep.

And then there was nothing.

She decided she was in a nice place. Only a nice place would be so warm, comforting. The light was dimmed, not too dark to see, but not so light that it could be mistaken with daylight. Just the way she liked it.

There were other things in the nice place. Slowly, Willow became more aware of them.

She was laying down on something. Something soft, something familiar. Sheets. And there was a blanket over her as well.

There was a barrier of some kind, towards her head. But this was a nice place, so the barrier couldn't be bad. A wall, she concluded. It was big, white, and comforting and protective. She decided she liked it.

And there was something else in the room, something important. There was a dark spot over to her right, and it drew her attention. Upon inspection, she decided it was a chair, with someone in it. The someone was looking at her, smiling, and reached out to stroke her red hair out of her face. With the touch came recognition.

Oz.

Memories followed, and she was suddenly awake. This wasn't right. She'd been outside, Oz was supposed to be dying right in front of her, not sitting, smiling patiently beside her in her own room.

"Oz--what?" She asked, confusion adding a slight waver to her voice.

He only smiled more. "It's okay, Wil. We're safe now." He leaned down over her, gently kissing her, loving her with that touch.

Willow enjoyed it, of course, and was in no hurry to break it off. But they both needed oxygen eventually, and she had questions burning inside her. "But, how... ?" She managed, when they pulled apart.

"Shh, baby." Oz put his hand on her hair again. "It's just a dream. There's nothing to worry about, ever again."

They locked gazes, conveying more with that look than with any words they'd ever shared. In that instant, Willow understood.

It was all a dream. Everything would be fine now.

The dark creature's head swung up when it heard the sounds of others approaching. Shouting rang out down the streets from dwellings on all sides, the commotion of its latest kill bringing the smelly humans out of their beds. The figure-creature hissed as they turned on their cursed lights and slowly stumbled outside to investigate all the yelling.

It decided to run; to flee from the noisy, stinking mortals that would surely try and kill it if they saw it. The dark figure was gone inside the span of a heartbeat, there one instant and a block away the next. When the humans came to the place it had been, they were too distracted by the darkness and two slumped outlines on the ground to notice any other details.

If anyone had been looking, however, they would have seen the faint trail of splotches leading off down the street. A person well-versed in the correct fields would have recognized it instantly for what it was.

Werewolf blood.

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