Bloody Odin, part six and...we're done! Wheeeeee!!

[tabaqui]

Yes yes! It's been fun. No, it's been damn hard. But also fun. And at last, it's done! This is a bit longer than the others and i could divide it into two parts but... I don't want to. Heh.

As always, thank you thank you reremouse for being there to keep me on track and encourage me. 'Teh Funny' is not my thing much, so it was awesome to have her deft hand giving me little shoves.

All the previous bits are here, and this would never have seen the light of day without the initial disturbed influence of crazydiamondsue and yin_again. And ladycat777! Horrible, warped masterminds all.

Now, the last bit. Thanks, everyone, for reading this odd thing! I've loved the fb and encouragement.






"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 every 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-friðr!"

"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 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!"