Disclaimer: "If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,

That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream."

-Midsummer's Night Dream

Author Notes: An attempt at a chaptered fic for Buffy, my first. Please read and review as I would gladly take any encouragement or pointers about how to work in this wonderful fandom. The story takes place sometime floating around in season three, after Band Candy obviously, so expect Faith and possibly Wesley…thanks and enjoy.

Crossroads

By: Lady Erised

"Am I a thing worth saving? Am I a righteous man?"

Chapter One: Two Roads Diverged…

Ethan Rayne was a man of passion, of emotions the chief among them being love. Few knew that and fewer would believe it if he told them that and indeed he would have had anyone asked. He loved easily and deeply. It had always been his downfall; at least that was what a very dear albeit very angry friend had told him once. He was told one night, over several bottles of cheap gin and rancid clove cigarettes (among other vices) that his passions threw him too easily into chaos and that if he wasn't careful he would be consumed by it. Ethan had believed it, and whole-heartedly so, the moment it had been uttered because the man who had said it was his everything. Anything Rupert Giles told him was gospel.

Ethan couldn't bring himself to care then, and in truth, couldn't now. He had always hated the idea of duty, of conformity and dumb, blind obedience to anything because of any reason. He preferred passions, and impulses and to live a life of moments: each one terrifying yes, but new and unpredictable. For his part, Giles had believed in it too or had tried, but unlike Ethan, Rupert was running from something rather then to it. Ethan's impulse to seek out all that Magick could offer him had been a love affair, for Rupert it had been an escape attempt.

For a time that was too brief for his liking, that hadn't mattered, Ethan and Rupert had connected: to each other and to their friends and created for a moment at least- something violent, powerful and united.

Then Eyghon. Then Randall. And as quickly as their friend had died and left him, Ethan woke up to discover his world, and any semblance of order or understanding in it had gone out the door with Ripper and nothing would bring it back.

Rupert Giles had left Ethan in chaos with only two options. The boy could embrace it, or be consumed by it.

As a rule, Ethan spent very little time dwelling on either the future or the past, finding no comfort in memories and no sanctum in worrying about what was unformed and unreal but the prospect of seeing his friend again- his real friend, Ripper, and not some cheap facsimile in tweed masquerading as a passive Watcher- had awaken something in Ethan, a longing to return if only for a moment to earlier times, a desire to see what might have been had things remained fluid and joined. The concept when posed to him by his employer had been enough to pique his interest.

Plus, he was being paid a lot of money.

He took the job with a smile and a handshake. Which brought Ethan to this moment, where he wiped the blood from his hands as he stood and admired his handiwork.

Craved into the floor was a detailed design that at first glance might have been a very embellished map. Runic inscriptions, some Norse, some Welsh, peppered the perimeter in red while the main design was done in black charcoal from an ash-tree, the thick trunk emblazoned with even more inscriptions that reached out with countless branches, each limb reaching and fading into the circle of Runescript.

On second glance, although not that anyone would ever see it, Ethan thought sadly as he mourned his artistic ability, one would realize that the tree itself was something else, a map yes but of a map of crossroads. It was Yggdrasil, the world tree where all the worlds and dimensions could meet and converge. He couldn't help but thinking that Rupert Giles would have appreciated both the detail of the drawing and the importance of it- that was of course, if he hadn't been pinned to the center of the tree like one-eyed Odin.

The Watcher was drifting in and out of consciousness, his mind unable to choose which was easier to cope with, the pain or the darkness. Giles was impaled through the wrists, with his arms spread out following the path of two branches. His entire body was pale and trembling. Rupert's neck was blue and purple from the feeding. The freshest wounds were still red and angry on his chest by his shoulders. The four Runes that made up the inscription were quick and Rayne had been assured Giles wasn't aware what was happening to him.

Ethan wasn't quite sure he believed that, but gave no indication that he grieved at all for the predicament he found his friend in.

The Vampire had been clear, after all, in his desire to make Giles suffer. He looked successful. It was only when Ethan had asked why didn't he just kill Giles that he got any kind of reaction from his employer.

The creature smiled, very thinly, as he returned his dagger to his pocket and stood. He was young in appearance, and had that sort of mousy discomfort that reminded Ethan of Rupert: and it was just as fake on the demon as it had been on the twenty something warlock he had met all those years ago. "It will do nothing if he's dead."

"You don't want to kill him." Ethan mused, not really caring. "But you want to give him a second chance. I must say that's rather magnanimous of you."

"Do you think this is a second chance? Do you really think this would be something he wanted? Oh no. I am merely after education." The demon laughed, chilling Ethan. "I want him to see what he is. I want all these walls and disguises he has thrown up to be torn down one by one and for him to face what kind of monster he really is."

"Then?"

The Vampire's features distorted then: brow protruding, eyes turning their sickly iodine yellow and the smile appeared to show a mouth full of sharp fangs. "Then, I'll give him a face to match his nature."

Ethan kept his features stony. "He'll destroy you, you know." He said very carefully. He made no attempt to hide the pride in those words. "If he finds out who you are, he's going to break you."

The Vampire's clear British lilt returned very simply, "He already has."

And then Ethan and Rupert were alone with the ceremony. He leaned down and brushed back Giles' brown hair, out of his face, studying his features. Giles moaned in his sleep and turned into the touch. He called for his Slayer. Ethan wondered for a moment if he was crying out for rescue or in fear.

"It's going to be over very soon." He told him, before standing and beginning the chant.

The Welsh was guttural and harsh and Ethan could feel the magick twist and bend to him. He felt it gather around his fingertips, pulsing and surging like a living thing but bound to the tree and the room by the blood and Giles' own fading life. Ethan felt very cold, suddenly, as wind that came from nowhere began to whip at his features. It blinded him, bathing the room in a pale light that shone at once red and then bright white before shifting and pushing against his magicks. He could feel the creatures of the incantation pushing at his will, trying to best him. If he hadn't been Chaos' disciple it might have worked. Instead of resisting, Ethan let the magick push through him: shaking his core as he pushed down the fear he felt. If the beasts he sought to invoke could destroy him, they would: he would not fear them. He knew of the empty places. He worshipped them.

As he thought these words, the pulse from the Magicks ripped around the room and imploded over the circle.

Then, the power receded like the waves, rippling as it pulled back some veil Ethan hadn't been aware of until just now to reveal the Three.

Only the Mother did not stand. Instead, she was sitting on the floor with Rupert's head in her lap. She looked in her thirties, tall and thick-armed; and she was staring down at Giles, her hand dancing very lightly over his hair. With her other hand, she was tugging something from his chest, about the thickness of her fingers and something that looked at first glance as a solid piece of chord. It wasn't until Ethan had moved closer that he realized it was braided like a rope.

She handed it over her shoulder without looking up to the Crone. The old woman held the chord tightly in her withered hand; she held a pair of clean bright silver shears in her other hand. Standing at the edge of Giles feet looking on with a vague impression of surprise that mirrored Rayne's own expression was the Maid.

They spoke as one, but Ethan heard three distinct voices colliding together like bird shrieks. It wasn't feminine, and it wasn't welcoming but he couldn't escape how graceful they sounded when they spoke. None of them cared to look up, but he saw each one's mouth move.

"We have been invoked by death." They said. "But it is not his time." The Crone shifted, inspecting the chord the Mother continued to pull from Rupert's chest. "We have been summoned but not by our son. Who are you to call us, Chaos kin?"

"Braided here. Entwined here. Him I see, and I am sought." The Maid suddenly chirped, it was impossible to pick her voice out of the Three, but he heard it sounding bright and solitary, she was pointing to one of the many strains that made up the rope.

Memories danced into Ethan's brain as fiercely as they had been when he had experienced them first. He saw Randall, Henry, Philip, Deirdre and even Rupert. He could feel the heaviness of the drink, and the sheer sense of freedom he got from invoking Eyghon. He could hear Rupert's laugh, Deirdre's soft skin, and his body under her…

He felt like his heart was going to break his chest. It felt so real…

"You are his." The Mother spoke now, but not to Ethan. Her lips were barely above Giles' ear. The Watcher called for his Slayer once more and he had to stifle a pang of familiar jealousy; the sort he hadn't felt in years. The Mother ignored it. She merely smiled. "Yes, hers too. You were not suppose to leave them yet."

"And he won't." Ethan called. The Magick pulsed once more, tugging through his body and pulling at his memories. He began to see things that were not his, things that did not really happen but would have. Or could have. In the circle, so close to the Three, Ethan found himself struggling to remember his purpose there, why he had summoned them, and not the countless lives he saw.

The visions were clearer here, and he saw Giles' lifetime mapped out before him. He saw Rupert dying instead of Randall, he saw him raising a family, some dark haired Gypsy cradling a newborn and looking tired and then he saw the Slayer and her friends: the life Rupert had chosen. Over Ethan, over family, over everything else.

"You called us." The Three spoke. "But for him. You do not believe in us, you rebuke us and hurt us. You are Chaos' son."

"I am."

"Not this one. He is ours…"

"Not anymore."

It was only then the Three as One looked up and studied him. Ethan felt very small. "You want to change the past." They said. "Have him follow your road…" The Crone's hand tightened around the rope, her thumb caressing one strain of the chord. Ethan felt pinned against the tree too. "For a champion of free will and emptiness…" they purred, "You are not honoring the Choice."

"I'm not being paid to." He shot back, determined not to allow the Three's strength to distract him. He let his fear pass through him, his weakness wash over him. "I'm being paid to bring back Ripper."

Giles' body shuttered. They spoke, "He doesn't want that."

"He doesn't get a say."

"We can do what you wish." The three told him. The Mother had stopped pulling the chord. The Crone had begun to run her shears against it. Only the Maid did not shift. She continued to watch, a small impish smile growing on her features. Of them all, Ethan decided he loved and feared her most. "We are bound by Yggdrasil to obey you." The Crone spoke now. "But be sure of what you ask. He knew what he was protecting you from when he fled. He could not lose you too."

And Rayne hesitated again, but only for a moment. He thought that perhaps it would be best to stop the spell now. He was vaguely certain he could make it out of Sunnydale before the Vampire even noticed that he was gone.

Of course Giles would be dead then. Without the spell, he would die. That was the rub of the spell after all. You had to be certain before you decided to mess with what the Fates had decreed. You could alter reality, and everything else by calling them but the price was a soul. Rayne didn't have to worship them to respect that. As a rule, he had a respect of anything that could not only kill him but also negate his very being.

The Fates could do that with ease and they were right: Giles had made the choice all those years ago to follow the course of events that had brought him to this room where he lay dying. Ethan had no right to change that.

But, he was being paid a lot of money.

The Three seemed to sense his resolve. The Crone spoke. "Ask."

"Make it so that Rupert Giles never abandoned us when Randall died, keep him on the path of Chaos. Let him live like he would have if he had embraced the Dark." Then, and for reasons Ethan couldn't name if he was pressed to, he added. "But him alone. Leave the world as it is but change him."

Ethan became aware of the crisp snip of scissors cutting through silk. The Mother lifted her head, taking the chord from the Crone and began to wrap it around Giles's shoulders like a bandoleer. The Runes that were craved onto Rupert's chest glowed, and as they did, the chord sank back into his skin.

The Maid turned away from Giles then, from the Mother and Crone. She turned to stare at Rayne; her dark vivid eyes watching him with all the intensity and certainty of a child. "He's going to destroy you." She whispered, coolly, repeating his earlier warning. "When he sees what you have done. You were his friend."

He stopped again, staring at the prone figure on the floor. He could see the Watcher's chest moving quicker now as the chord continued to sink into him, jolting every so often as the Crone continued to scale it, weaving and undoing strains and bits and pieces of it as she handed it back to the Mother. Giles was muttering protestations and it occurred to Ethan, somewhat darkly and too late to change anything that Giles knew what was happening to him. Ethan had studied everything he could find on the spell: from the preparation to possible side effects. He made it his business to find out how to clean up the messes he made; he liked living and always sought to ensure that he remained so but nothing prepared him for that revelation. The Vampire had, not unsurprisingly, lied to him. Giles knew he was being taken somewhere else against his will. He was suffering. Just like the monster had wanted him too. Ethan tried to put himself in Giles' place, to feel what it must be like; having an entire life realigned and adjusted.

Names. Giles was not crying in pain. He was repeating names over and over; a litany from the desperate to keep something.

He was terrified; Ethan didn't believe it was possible for Rupert to be so.

The Maid was right. The Watcher wouldn't kill Ethan for this. He would destroy him. But then again, after tonight, the Watcher wouldn't exist anymore.

Somehow that did little to comfort him.

Gradually, the trembling stopped and with it, the names tapered off. The Three continued to wrap the rope around Giles until they too to fade from Ethan's view, evaporating like rain. The circle was disappearing, the tree and inscriptions smoldering and popping before falling into nothingness. The scars of his torture were flickering too; falling away with the memories and the Three and Ethan forced himself to watch until the last.

When it was over, Giles lay in the middle of a clean, white washed room with the only sign that something had happened in this room were four inscribed Runes on his shoulder blade that were too old to have been anything recent. The man's breathing was even, and comfortable: deep and dreamless like a drunken man's.

Ethan felt cold, and tired. He always did after spells of this intensity but there was something different in this one. Something he did not want to name so he ignored it instead, opting to pull free a pack of cigarettes from inside his coat pocket. He found a corner of the room to his liking and pressed his back against the wall.

Then, he just waited for Ripper to wake up.