Bloody Odin

by
Tabaqui

Part Five

"And then - and then - then he - he had to take off his pants -" Buffy's voice dissolved into giggles and she rolled from side to side on the exercise mat, clutching her stomach. Tara looked down loftily from her lotus position and poked her.

"Probably sh-shouldn't be telling s-stories like this behind their backs."

"You mean, behind their butts," Willow said, and Buffy laughed harder, pulling her knees up toward her chest.

"Ow, ow, ow! Sss-stop! I'm gonna pee!" Buffy gasped. Willow giggled too and flapped her hands lazily. She was anchored by a long scarf and some towels to Tara's left wrist and rowed in an unsteady circle six feet over their heads. Tara watched her, smiling, then suddenly started frowning.

"Yeah. Pee. Ummm...I need to g-get up."

"So - get up," Willow said, and floated another inch higher. Buffy lifted her feet and pointed her toes at Willow, who breast-stroked over to them. "Buffy, you're getting a hole in this - butt. Boot." Willow stuck her lower lip out and blew her bangs out of her eyes. "I think there was codeine in those Tylenols."

"I can't unfold my legs," Tara said, pulling her skirt up over her knees and staring accusingly at her legs.

"What are you guys doing?" All three women flinched from the shrill voice by the door. "Why is Giles on the floor? Why is Willow - floating - and - and tied up and - Tara! Pull your skirt down!" Dawn darted over from the doorway, backpack bouncing.

Tara grinned, studying her legs. "I can't f-feel my legs. But they still look good." She plucked at her knee. "I think I n-need to ssshave."

"They look great, baby," Willow crooned, slowly revolving until she was pointing at Tara. Her feet floated up behind her until she was almost standing on her head.

"Oh. My. God. You guys are drunk!" Dawn pointed accusingly at the empty bottle on top of the exercise horse. "I don't believe it! Where are Spike and Xander?"

"Naked!" Buffy chortled, clapping her heels together. Willow snorted and then covered her mouth with her hand.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," she mumbled, her face taking on an ashy sort of grey-green color.

"No! Don't do that! Willow - get down! You'll - you'll choke or something!" Dawn grabbed the scarf and tugged. Willow clamped her hand tighter over her mouth and shook her head frantically. "Shit."

"Dawnie! Language!" Buffy's boots thudded to the floor and she wobbled into a sitting position, frowning.

"Hello! Willow's gonna choke if she throws up upside down! I think I'm allowed a few curse-words. Help me get her lose!" Dawn yanked at the knot on Willow's wrist.

"No, no, no, Dawnie!" Tara plucked at the towel around her own wrist. "Don' - don't untie her, we'll never get her off'a the c-ceiling. Just - gotta get this - knot -" Willow made an urgent squeaky noise behind her hand and Buffy lurched to her feet - grabbed Tara under the armpits and hauled her upright. Tara yelped and staggered on legs that were obviously asleep.

"We gotta tow her to the bathroom." Buffy stomped across the mats, dragging Tara along behind. Tara grabbed the towels and jerked Willow into motion. Willow closed her eyes and moaned.

Dawn stared after them for a moment and then followed, shaking her head. "I can't leave you guys alone ever." She stopped and looked speculatively around the room. "Hey -guys? Are Spike and Xander really naked?"

"It's Latin."

"But they're Vikings! I don't get it."

"He's a monk. He's why we're here - his sect will make Niblet the bloody Key and squish Glory into whatever poor sod they finger to try and contain her." Spike stared hard at Xander and Xander stared back, a Twinkie half-way to his mouth.

"What?"

"Didn't you pay any attention?"

"It's not my fault!" Xander waved the Twinkie aloft. "You were wearing that shirt, the one with the rip in it? And you kept doing that thing. With your tongue."

"Oh. Yeah." Spike grinned suddenly - did that thing with his tongue. "That, you mean?"

"Uh - yeah. That thing." Xander took a step toward Spike, who reached out and snagged a belt loop. "I like that thing."

"I know. Makes you all - flushed," Spike purred. Xander reached up and slid his non-Twinkie-holding hand into Spike's hair and Spike leaned in, mouth in 'kiss me now' mode. A callused, fairly grimy hand thrust between them and Spike and Xander both recoiled.

"Jesus!"

"Sod off!"

"Lįtiš af žessu!" the skald snapped. A very clear 'stop it now before I throw a bucket of water on you!' if his irritated expression was anything to go by. Then something in Latin and Spike nodded. Thorgils glared at both of them - made a 'come along' gesture with his hand and stalked out of the longhouse, cloak swirling.

"What'd he say?"

"Going to meet the blacksmith. Apparently he's some - step-half-cousin's nephew of Thor or some such bollocks." Spike jerked away from a grabby Viking and put his arm around Xander's shoulders - got a cigarette out of his pack with his other hand and groped for his lighter. The Luggage trotted behind, snapping at Vikings who got too close.

Xander stuffed the last of his Twinkie into his mouth and licked his fingers. "So he's gonna make our god-catching box?"

"Got it in one. Hang on - got a bit of - " Spike leaned in and licked at the corner of Xander's mouth, lapping up Twinkie cream and getting in a grope. Xander groped back and a Viking somewhere behind them muttered something and prodded at them both with a spear-haft. The Luggage recoiled - drew up its straps and leaped.

Spike sighed - jerked Xander backwards by the waist of his jeans as Xander attempted to jump in and - do something. Rescue the Luggage, probably. About five minutes later Thorgils came stamping back, waving his scroll and shouting.

The Vikings had formed a loose circle around the combatants and Xander was pretty sure bets were being made. He shifted from side to side, ready to dart in and help if the Luggage looked like it was losing. Spike turned his back and got into a huddle with three or four Vikings, muttering in fractured Latin and passing something back and forth.

The Luggage had latched on to the Viking's thigh and was worrying it like a dog with a meaty bone. The warrior - prone in the trampled snow - was beating weakly at the Luggage with the broken haft of his spear.

"Lįtiš af žessu!" Thorgils thundered. The warriors fell silent, heads ducked like naughty school children. Xander wrestled the Luggage off of the fallen Viking and hastily threaded the straps through the buckles.

There was a chorus of mumbled words - Xander imagined that the Vikings were apologizing but they didn't exactly look sorry, just - nervous. The sort of nervous Willow got when she did unauthorized casting and Giles found out. The skald leveled a finger at the Luggage who cringed away, doing its best to burrow into Xander's ribs.

"Hey! Spike, tell him to stop scaring the Luggage!"

"We need to get going," Spike said, hastily stuffing several things in his pockets and grabbing Xander by the arm. He towed him down the path, past the scowling Thorgils and into the heart of the village. Xander let the Luggage wiggle free and it trotted happily beside him.

"You were betting on the fight."

"Of course I was! Bloody hell, did you see the pot? Got some lovely trinkets for the girls." Spike patted his pockets, which clinked, and Xander rolled his eyes - stumbled over an exposed root and then staggered to a stop. The Luggage bumped into his calves and Spike absently swatted at it.

"Is that the blacksmith?" Xander whispered.

"Yup," Spike said.

"And who's that - other guy?"

"He's the - blacksmith's...bloke." It was the two men from the beach-trail. Once again, they were locked in a passionate embrace. Once again, all that was visible was fur, leather, metal, and brown and blond hair. This time the skald actually heaved an armful of snow. The two broke apart, spluttering, and the blacksmith's - bloke - snarled something at Thorgils. The blacksmith crossed his arms and glowered, his sleek black beard dripping chunks of snow.

"Spike, is that -?"

"Yup." Spike found his flask and took a long drink - offered it to Xander. Xander took a drink and choked. "Sorry, pet. You know - you look good with a beard."

"You look good in braids," Xander wheezed, watching...Viking-Spike tear the skald a new one. The Luggage heaved a sort of creaky sigh and trotted into the forge to bask in the glow of the coals.

Part Six

"Ooh, wow. I really don't feel...well." Buffy was sprawled on her back on an exercise mat, a pad of wet paper towels over her eyes. Willow was sprawled next to her.

"You don't feel well! I threw up twice!"

"Don't remind me," Buffy mumbled, holding her stomach. Willow adjusted her own paper towels and smiled up at Tara, who was coming over with a can of soda.

"Ooh, ginger ale. Is that for me?"

"All for you," Tara said. "Dawn's bringing yours," she added hastily when Buffy shot a look at her from under the towels.

"I'd kiss you, except I have puke-breath," Willow said. She propped herself up on her elbow and took the cold can, taking a tiny sip. Tara patted her hair.

"Here's your ginger ale, Buffy," Dawn said, coming through the door. "And here's -"

"What in hell is going on?" Anya stomped through the doorway, holding an empty whiskey bottle in one hand and a Lower Durgonic fertility fetish in the other. "And why are the Durgo sex-spell dolls all over the place?"

"Oh, uh - th-hat was - that was -"

"Giles." Buffy interrupted Tara, slowly sitting up and peeling the towels off her face. "He was conducting an experiment." Tara made an astonished face at Buffy, who made a face back

"Giles? He should know better. Is that why he's locked in the office? And what's wrong with the two of you?" Anya squinted at Tara. "The three of you, I mean. You all look like something the cat dragged in."

"Thanks a lot," Willow muttered, and Tara tapped a fingernail on the soda can.

"Drink your ginger ale, honey, you'll feel better."

"We - uh - were celebrating Spike and Xander making it back to the Vikings and - stuff," Buffy said.

"Couldn't you have done that at home? Aren't they back yet?"

"They're naked, apparently, and I missed it," Dawn muttered.

Anya looked down at the fetish. "Naked? Here? In my shop? I knew I should have installed those security cameras."

"No, they're not naked in the shop, they're... Oh, hell." Buffy took a sip of her ginger ale and lay back down, the can balanced on her stomach, the towels back over her eyes. "Tara can explain it to you. It's a lot like The Terminator only with a different stupid accent. Dawn, are there any bendy straws?"

"Oh, man. I can't take this anymore. I really can't," Xander whimpered, hiding his face in Spike's neck. Spike patted him absently on the back.

"There, there," he said. His gaze was fixed on the lamia. The witches, who were doing a spell. There were three of them. Two of them - from the tantalizing scent on the breeze - would be needing a little private time when this was all over.

Spike might need some private time. The brunette witch - barely legal - looked at Spike and Xander like the blonde witch did the red-headed one. Of course, Xander chose that moment to risk looking up.

"It's making me feel oogy, Spike! That's Dawn! Make her stop doing that!" he wailed, averting his eyes once again from the...maiden.

"It's not the Bit. It's just some kind of weird - thing. We'll have Rupert explain it all when we get home." Spike fumbled for a cigarette. 'Oogy' was not the word he would use. "Right! That's got it." The blonde witch had plucked a strand of hair from each head and twisted them together. The hairs - smoked. The smith stepped up with the god-box and Spike poked at Xander. "Watch, now, they're making the lock!"

"Are they dressed yet?" Xander moaned, and Spike whapped him on the back of the head.

"Oh, for god's sake! Just keep your eyes on the box!" Viking-Xander held the box out as the blonde one - Viking Tara, Spike supposed - wound the now distinctly un-hair-like strands through the latch on the god-box.

"Wow." Xander stared as the smith eased the box into a leather sack and tied the neck shut, then advanced upon them. The Luggage scuttled between, gaping itself open in a slightly menacing manner only to have Viking Spike aim a furred boot at it. It ducked, buckles jingling, and Xander scooped it up and held it. "Sorry about that. It's a little - ah ha - over-protective."

The Luggage's hooves flailed in the air for a moment and Xander stroked it gently. "Shh, shh, I won't let the big bad Viking hurt you."

Spike took the sack from the smith and then frowned as the witches swayed up, still naked. Thorgils was behind them, saying something. "Slow down, mate - uh - tardus?" Thorgils made a disgusted sort of noise and spoke again, slower - making hand gestures. Viking Dawn giggled.

Xander seemed to be concentrating on the Luggage - picking bits of gorse out of the straps and polishing mud off the buckles. "Spike, what's he saying?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"He's saying the witches are going to send us back now. So we have to strip."

"What?" Xander clutched the Luggage convulsively to his chest, eyes darting wildly all around - refusing to drop past chin-height. "Strip? What? Why? We're not going to - I mean - with the witches -?"

"No, you git." Spike finished his cigarette and flicked the butt away into the depths of the forge. The smith growled. Spike raised an eyebrow. "Remember how we came through? M'not leaving my coat here - I'll never get it back."

"Oh, well, yeah, but - but we could just put our - our shoes and your coat in the Luggage! I mean, this jacket was on sale, I can get a new one! And - and -"

"Xander!" Spike stopped - took Xander's face in his hands and shook him ever so slightly. "Take. Your. Clothes. Off."

Xander blinked at him. "That's usually a lot more exciting."

"Just how excited do you want to be when we poof back in, bollocks to the breeze with the real Bit and the whole bloody gang watching?"

"Oh - my - god. It's a nightmare."

"It's bloody cold. I am never doing a favor for the Watcher again. Ever. No amount of whiskey and fags is worth this," Spike grumbled, yanking off his boots and prising the Luggage from Xander's spastically clutching hands. The Luggage squeaked. "Open up, you bloody - handbag. Got work to do."

The trip back was - cold. And a bit damp. Xander was pretty sure he was going to throw up. Until he dropped heavily to the floor of the Magic Box and looked up to see five pairs of wide, interested eyes fastened on him. Then he knew he was going to throw up.

"Huh, look at that. Naked. You were right, Tara," Anya said, and Xander moaned and clamped his hands over his groin. The Luggage lay under him, wheezing slightly.

"Did you get it? Did they make it? How did they do it? Where is it?" Willow asked, bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of her feet.

"Yes, yes, with magic and in the bloody Luggage if I can get Xander to get up." Spike jerked at the Luggage's handle, making it and Xander both slide a few inches across the floor. Xander squeezed his eyes shut.

"Just kill me. Please."

"Bloody hell! How about you lot turn around and stop staring so he can have the use of his hands back?"

"What? Oh! Oh, yeah. Dawn! Turn around!" Buffy snapped, grabbing Dawn by the arm and spinning her hard enough that Dawn ended up facing Xander and Spike again.

"Dawn's here? Why is Dawn here? Viking-Dawn was bad enough!" Xander moaned, and Dawn squealed.

"There was a Viking me? What did I do? Was I a - a warrior or -"

"Turn! Around! Dawn!" Buffy ordered. Everyone turned. Xander flipped himself like a crab and latched onto the Luggage.

"You were a witch, Niblet, just like Red and Glinda. Helped do the mojo to make the lock on the box. Xander, let go." Spike wrenched the Luggage out of Xander's grip and Xander went into a protective huddle over himself.

"Wow, witches even back then? That's so neat," Willow said.

"Yeah, uh, you were really cool, Dawn. You and - uh - Viking Tara and Viking Willow did this spell. You were all - chant-y and dance-y and -"

"Naked. All very naked. Amazing sight. Here you go, Slayer."

"You saw my little sister naked?"

"You saw my girlfriend naked?" Willow and Buffy both spun around again, glaring at Spike. Tara peeked over her shoulder.

"No! No seeing! We looked away! Like you're going to keep doing! Come on, guys!" Xander scrabbled in the Luggage and found his jeans - attempted to put them on without rising from his crouch. After a moment's struggle he fell over, cursing. Tara stifled a giggle.

"Why don't you ladies go up front and get the spell going to catch Glory, yeah? And - where's Rupert?" Spike added, standing easily and reaching for his own jeans. Anya and Dawn squeaked. Buffy reached out and blindly clamped her hand over Dawn's eyes.

"He's not quite - himself. I think we need to go make some coffee. Come on, ladies."

"Ow! Buffy, I can't see - don't steer me into things!"

"Good Lord! I thought I told Anya she was never to make coffee ever, ever again!"

"We needed something strong, Giles. Xander and Spike are back - it's time to do the spell!"

Giles blinked owlishly up at Buffy - took another sip of his coffee and grimaced. "A little hair of the dog would work better."

"Eww! We don't have time for gross magical hang-over cures, Giles!"

"He means another shot of whiskey, Slayer. Here you go, Rupert, something to take the edge off." Spike slopped two fingers of whiskey into Giles' mug and then took a long drink himself while Buffy made a face.

"Yuck. Okay. Is everything ready, Willow?"

"Yup, all ready. Magical circle, mystic runes, stinky herbs - mystically forged god-box. Were you really the smith, Xander?"

"Oh, yeah. I really was. You know, the smith was a very important man in a village like that - kind of like - the king."

"I thought Spike said he was a poufter? Is that like a king?" Dawn shaded in a last rune and looked quizzically up at Xander. She had a smear of blue chalk on her cheek.

"Oh, uh, well - it's sort of -"

"Means he was a flaming fairy, just like Xany-poo here. By all that's bloody holy, can we shift our arses people? I need to eat, shag, and sleep in that order!"

"Way, way too much information." Buffy moved into position on the edge of the circle, waving a small square of paper. "I'm ready, people, let's go."

"Right. Okay. Dawn? We'll talk later." Xander grabbed his own square out of Tara's hand and moved to his spot.

"Sure. Later. When I'm forty or something," Dawn grumbled. She flopped down onto the bottom of the loft-stairs, frowning. The Luggage sidled out from between two shelves and moved hesitantly toward her. She eyed it uncertainly.

"Okay Giles, you're here," Willow said, pointing, and Tara handed him his square. Giles squinted at it, then felt in his shirt-pocket for his glasses.

"Why are there pipe-cleaners attached to the temples of my glasses?"

"You - umm... You said you were a b-beetle," Tara said, and Spike snorted.

"Not a word," Giles growled, wrenching the pipe-cleaners off and taking up his station. Tara stepped into place, Anya on her right, and then they all looked at each other.

Buffy studied her paper. "Uh - so, who goes first?"

"That's who's on first -"

"Xander. Shut up." Giles cleared his throat. "I go first. Then Willow, then Buffy. Then Spike, Xander, Anya, and Tara finishes us off." There were muffled giggles from several quarters which Giles ignored. "It's all phonetic; just read it like it's spelled. Now then -"

The chant went well - everyone was charged. They were slightly less charged when Glory came screaming into the shop, stretched long and wide like a bad time-travel CGI.

"Look out, look out!"

"Get down!"

"Dawn, stay back!"

"Bloody hell, get off my foot!"

The box opened of its own accord and a slightly better CGI - something reminiscent of the Ark of the Covenant scene - spun Glory around and sucked her down. The lid slammed shut and the hairs - gleaming metallically - wound themselves into a Gordian knot around the latch.

"You think it's safe?" Xander asked, poking the box with his toe.

"Want to give it a shake and see?" Giles snapped. He sat down heavily at the table, rubbing his forehead.

"No, I guess I - uh - guys? Is that a good creeping mist or a bad creeping mist?"

"Dawn! Up into the loft!"

"I might as well be a dog. Dawn, sit! Dawn, stay! Dawn -"

"Shut up!" Willow hissed. "Sorry, Dawnie, just - trying to concentrate."

"Whatever." Dawn stomped up the iron stairs, making a racket. The Luggage lunged clumsily after her, its hooves ringing off the metal. "Guys? Why is this suitcase following me?"

"It likes you, Dawn," Xander said, smiling indulgently at the Luggage. "It won't hurt you."

"It's...staring at me."

"Suitcases don't have eyes, Dawn," Buffy muttered. The mist was creeping in from the door and swirling around her boots.

"It's like The Fog," Tara whispered, and Spike perked up from his slouch on top of the counter.

"Think there'll be undead pirates any time, then?"

"Guys!" Buffy shot a quelling look at Spike who smirked, un-quelled. The door to the shop rattled - then shrieked - then burst inward in a shower of glass and splinters.

"Thank god my policy's up to date," Giles said, standing and backing away slowly.

"Yes. Thanks to you know who." Anya grinned up at him smugly. Giles rolled his eyes.

"Okay, is it some invisible - thing?" Buffy hopped up onto a chair-seat, kicking clinging mist off her ankle. "Or is it -"

"Heilhuga-frišr!"

"It's more bloody Vikings, is what it is."

"So, that's what Buffy looks like as a Viking."

"And me! All those straps and buckles really suited me. Her," Anya said, taking up a fists-on-hips-stance.

Giles made 'hrmm' sort of noise, and it was clear from his look he was picturing Anya in a gleaming scale-mail corselet and not much else. "Actually, Dawn, those were Valkyrie, or the 'chooser of the slain'. In ancient mythology -"

"Yeah, okay, long and fascinating history, yadda yadda. Buffy, did you see those boots?"

"So they'll keep Glory up in Valhalla somewhere? Isn't that Viking heaven? Doesn't seem - fair." Xander was holding out a rag and a tin of saddle soap. "C'mon, now - who's a brave Luggage? Let's go home and I'll give you a nice bath and polish - make you just like new!" The Luggage huddled further into the shadows under the stairs.

"I think they said something about Helgardh or - something. Rupert! Where were they taking it?"

Giles stopped trying to tell Buffy, the witches, Dawn and Anya about the origin of the Valkyries and they hastily scuttled away, gathering up purses and jackets.

"I think the - the Buffy one said something about Yggdrasil? That would be the world tree. I think they were going to bury her in the roots or something."

"It'll be safe there, right? I mean - a world-tree, that's gotta be big - nothing'll mess with that." Xander was making 'wax on, wax off' motions with the rag and the Luggage was swaying, entranced.

"Safe as houses, pet. Bloody hell. Right - you - come out from under there or I'll get Rupert to dis-enchant you and you can go back to living on top of his wardrobe! Hear me?" The Luggage hesitated and darted over to Xander where it pushed forlornly at his shins. Xander slipped the straps through the buckles and hefted it by the handle.

"It's all right, it's just for the walk home. Uh - we're going home now, Giles."

"Yes, quite, I'm sure you must be exhausted, what with your - adventures and everything," Giles said, suddenly deeply interested in a pile of outdated invoices by the register.

Spike pulled his coat on with a snap and lit a cigarette - stalked over to Giles with Xander trailing behind, tugging uselessly at his sleeve.

"Uh, Spike -"

"Don't think I've forgotten how we arrived, mate, or what we had to slog through. Or the fact that you sent your bloody notes and last week's dry-cleaning bill through instead of the bloody dictionary!" Spike was emphasizing with a jabbing fore-finger and smoldering cigarette and Giles drew himself up in offended dignity.

"Now see here, Spike -"

"We're leaving! We're leaving, ladies! Good night!" Xander grabbed Spike by the wrist and dragged him out the doorway, kicking debris aside. There was a ragged chorus of 'good nights!' from the shop and then they were hurrying down the sidewalk, the Luggage kicking feebly in Xander's grip.

"All right, all right, I'm not a sodding three-year-old, you can let go now, Daddy."

"Don't - do that. In that voice." Spike looked up at Xander through his lashes and Xander swallowed hard. "I want to eat. Pizza. And breadsticks, and those breadsticks with cinnamon and sugar and icing. So no 'Daddy', right? I mean - not right now."

"Oh, all right." Spike sulked along for half a block, moodily smoking and glaring at Xander. "So - why'd you drag me out of there? I was going to give Rupert a right bollocking for putting us through that."

"Because! It all worked out in the end. And you were getting pretty angry. I was afraid you'd haul off and punch him and then -"

"And then they'd all know Thorgils did that spell and the chip doesn't work anymore." Spike looked thoughtful for a moment and then grinned, slinging his arm around Xander's waist and hugging him close.

"Let's get the pizza delivered. I wanna try out that paddle the Bit got us for Christmas."

"Just don't mention who it's from when you're using it. Or when you're not. Or ever. Okay?"

"Whatever makes you happy, Xander. Oh! Look - a snack-pack! Be right back, love."

Xander watched Spike bound off after a late-night skulker who was trying to jimmy open a shop door. "Keep in mind you have to brush the minute we get home!" he yelled. "I'm not kissing you with breaking-and-entering-guy breath!"

The End

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