Also, read Kass' "Clay", which is in the latest PolyRecs update, and if you haven't read torch's "A Spirit of Brotherhood", you need to.

I've read "Spirit of Brotherhood", but not "Clay". Thank you for the suggestions!

Jeeeeez, SA. I actually am arachnophobic (found out I was allergic to spider venom when I was bit by a black widow, aged 9).

I could feel her dislocation, anger, need. Very potent.

Thanks, deb. Man, I really didn't mean to hit the fears of the arachnaphobic out there.

Connie, I've noticed that your LOTR fic is getting nice feedback on Silverlake. Go you!

It is? I thought it was being ignored. WOOSH

Little first drafty thing on the go at the moment. Unfinished. Any thoughts would be greatly appreciated:

* * *

The girls kept on showing up, shocky-eyed and jumpy, like they were the tattered remnants of the Rebel forces and someone had declared 1630 Revello Drive a sun-drenched suburban version of Yavin's fourth moon. The house was filling fast, and the more of them arrived, the lonelier Andrew felt. It was like school all over again, only worse, if that was possible, because this was *it*, 24/7, no escape, and all his books and carefully labelled videos and the mint condition figurines, and all the magazines and fanzines and Top Trumps sets and all the things that mattered were gone.

And Warren was gone.

And it kept on not getting any better.

* * *

It was kind of ironic, how things turned out. He hadn't really expected to get to hang out with The Slayer, although when Jonathan talked about it Andrew had sometimes found himself swept along wistfully in his wake and had almost forgotten about The Plan. But here he was, with The Slayer and The Wicked Witch of the West and, and - and really, they ought to have a proper name, like the Superfriends, or the Justice League, or The Uncanny X Men, or something. The Stake Team, maybe. Or the Bat Pack, or, well, something. They didn't seem to understand that there were precedents, there were Ways Things Should Be Done. Although Buffy was pretty good at being the leader, he had to admit, even without having a cool uniform or gadgets or any of that stuff. He could see why they followed her. Still, Andrew occupied his mind part of the time with trying to design a cool outfit for The Slayer, and he was wondering how to broach the subject with one of the Slayer Wannabes, get them to plan ahead. Maybe even explain to them how useful it would be to have a sidekick who could raise demons and had some first-hand experience of Evil Genius-hood.

If any of them would just talk to him.

* * *

He almost missed Mexico, and who knew that that was even possible? But the thing about Mexico was that they were supposed to be outsiders, and so the reason they didn't belong was because they were foreign, rather than freaks. In a weird way they got extra coolness points just for being American. Although the locals still hated them, of course - but the thing was that it was like they'd chosen to be alone. It was almost a relief, although he hardly noticed it at the time, because everything else was so awful. Nothing had prepared them for it, and he'd never felt so exposed and vulnerable in his life before. It was filthy, and hot, and his skin was burned to a crisp straight away, and he was allergic to just about everything, and he hated hated hated Jonathan, who actually spoke some Spanish and kind of blended in, being all short and dark and annoying. Andrew spoke six demon languages fluently and he knew enough Kankanath and Fyaral to get by, but his Spanish was lousy and everyone took advantage of him, like he had "Hi, I'm American, Please Rip Me Off" tattooed on his forehead. The days were hideous and the nights were worse, torn between conscious terrors and broken nightmares of what Willow had become, and what she would do to them when she finally found them. And what she had done to Warren.

He woke up crying a lot.

The first time he saw Warren again, he thought his heart would burst with relief.

Now he was surrounded by English speakers again, back in Sunnydale, and everything was worse than ever. He'd never been so alone in his life.

He missed Jonathan, and he hadn't really expected that. It wasn't like they were friends, exactly. Not really. Not like him and Warren. God, he missed Warren. Warren was the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last thing he thought of when he went to sleep. Warren would totally have come back for him if Willow hadn't gone all Terminator. They'd had a special understanding, like - like Starsky and Hutch, or Kirk and Spock, or Luke and Han; and Han wouldn't ever really leave Luke to handle Vader on his own, not ever. Warren wouldn't have abandoned him. Maybe Jonathan, because Jonathan was annoying and he didn't really believe in Warren. But he would totally have come back for Andrew. That's why it seemed so logical when he did.

Although, as it turned out, he didn't after all. And now even Jonathan was gone, which was his fault, and there was nobody to get stuff. Except Xander, who was quite a lot bigger than Andrew had realised - but he was rebuffing every hopeful overture Andrew made, and pretending that he didn't know the Batman from the Man-Bat.

Andrew got knots in his belly thinking about Jonathan. But it wasn't like it was his fault, not really. Warren had said - only it wasn't Warren, he had to stop thinking it was Warren - the First Evil had said that Jonathan would go to a better place and be at peace, and that it was all part of The Plan. Andrew had felt - needed. Important. Special. Valued.

Loved.

But it had all been a lie.

* * *

edited 'cause I'm tweaking and chopping and changing already.

Niiiiice... Very geekly.

Awwww.... I want to pat Andrew on the head and tell him that everything's going to be all right. Beautifully written and oh-so-sad.

Oh, Anne. That's such a sweet impulse. Of course, you'd be a big fat LIAR.