Now, I know that the time frame that this fiction will be placed in isn't right, but please bear with me in order for this plot to make sense. Think of a season as being half a year instead of an entire one. Err...something like that...Just go with it.

Forged Time Unforgiven

Chapter One: Not How He'd Picture It

The last thing he could remember seeing was the darkened night sky turning into a blur before his eyes. He remembered hearing the hundreds of cries from the demon heard. The pounding of footsteps on the concrete that lead to the rest of the world. The menacing screams that filled his ears and the horrid look of the faces of the many demons.

Then he was unable to stop it.

Never, in the entire 128 years of his existence, had he ever expected to make it to the pearly white gates. Heaven had never been an option for him before, or at least not after the whole fang factor. Sure, he had sat back and wondered what it would be like to be able to go up into the region where you're nottormented for the rest of your existence...but it had only been a fleeting thought.

So now, as he stood looking up and the golden gates, which were more of a silver luster, that were to admit him into sanctuary, he thrust his hands into his duster. "Huh."

"Ahh." He heard from his right. "You're here and right on time too."

Spike took a good look at the fellow standing before him...or under him. For some high and all mighty power he sure was short. "Yeah...Don' reckoned this migh' be a mistake? I don' wanna wake up in some ally starkers tomorrow..."

The mistical being raised a brow.

"I mean the big guy got it right this time, yeah?"

"Oh..." The figure laughed and nodded in unison. "Yes, yes. You're exactly where you're suppose to be." Then he walked away toward some sort of podium near the side of the gate. Stepping up to it, he reached under and pulled out a thin booklet and opened it to a rondom page.

Spike shifted to stand in front of it and out of the corner of his eye, took a peek at the page, which was blank.

The being gave him a stern eye and adjusted the podium so that it was at a steeper slope. Then he raised his hand over the book and muttered some words Spike couldn't make out. Then he breathed and nodded. "Yes, yes here you are... 'William Daniel Matheren, Born 1853. Turned Spike, 1880. Died, 2004.'" As his eyes continued to travel down the page, his face slowly turned into a questioning glance, but quickly whipped it and he looked back up and Spike. "Yes. You're precisely where you're suppose to be..."

Spike's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I'm likin' your tone o' voice at the moment. What's goin' on?"

The figures arms came out straight out of his torso and turned toward the gates. Then his his hands were flat and they parted as the gate began to open. There was no sound as the gates opened all the way, swinging to the side. Spike couldn't even see past a few feet from the barrier.

When he looked at the being he had been talking to, he was met with an impatient expression. "Hurry, hurry. There are others you know."

Spiked looked behind his to see a line starting to form, different people of all ages, races, and sex looking around wildly. Turning, he nodded. "Right." Then he walked steadily past the barrier and was engulfed in an enormous amount of light...effulgent. "Bloody fucking hell."

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and thrust something under his nose. "Way to start off your existence."

Spike hadn't caught the face of the guy that had bothered him, but his note remained: William Matheren- 1 penance, one Eon. He squinted at it until the meaning made sense. He rolled his eyes and wadded it up. "Whatever." Then he threw it over his shoulder before pausing. He turned around to look at where it had landed, only to find that it wasn't there.

When he continued to look around, something became stuck in his throat. Everything was...perplexing. There was grass, all even amounts and the richest shade of green he had ever seen. The roads were a white marble which also constructed the buildings around him. There were rows of flowerbeds that lined the walls. A fountain every now and then could be seen spouting out water from figures that stood with grace.

Then he noticed the people.

All of them were dressed in clothes of different shapes. Not poncy robes that he thanked he wouldn't have to wear...but then...they were all white!

He looked down at himself, fisting his hands into his duster. Everything that he wore now was white. From his combat boots, to his nail polish...not a hint of black in it. He growled and shook his head. Should have known there'd be a consequence. Then he looked back up into the eyes of someone he couldn't remember.

"Well hello." At Spikes expression, he smiled. "Yeah, being dead's not as fun as you'd think it'd be eh?"

Spikes expression hardened. "Not exactly a white on white guy."

"Ah, me neither. Though, the stuff does fit well, dun it?" The man lifted up the sides of his leather jacket and ran a hand down his button shirt. "Top quality they have here."

Spike rolled his shoulders. "Yeah...now who are you?"

He slapped his head and laughed. "Right. Introductions. Never was good at that...Name's Doyle. Fought with Angel a few years back, died to stop an apocalypse."

Spike nodded. "Join the club."

"Already have one, well it's more or less like a committee. I'm myself a badge and all."

Spike stared.

"Just messin' with ya. I'm vice president, thought it was right to step down and let her have a turn."

"Her-?"

Doyle looked around as though he had heard something Spike had not and smiled. "Right. Sorry. Forgot what I was suppose to do in the first place." He started off in a random direction, then after a few moments of figuring he wasn't following, Doyel turned to him and beckoned himwith a wave of a hand. "Come on. It's not gonna wait forever. Oh and I'm sorry about bein' late. Had to show the other new one around." Then he resumed his direction.

Spike followed his slowly at first, taking note of where they were going. "This is real right? I mean...I'm not in some kind of phsycotic state, am I?"

"Nah. You're dead...Or deader."

They passed what seemed to be a park and ended up in the front of the largest building they had come across so far. White columns lined the outside, with numerous doors running along the walls. Doyel led them to the largest set of doors, and into a building that lightly resembled that of a law firm.

As soon as they had stepped inside, the first thing he had noticed was the fact that he couldn't smell all the people that was walking around. Normally in a room that was this crowded, had a stench to mixed it was almost revolting, since he wouldn't ever touch a human again. But as he tried to search out their scents he couldn't...actually he couldn't even faze into game face.

"Hey!" He yelled at Doyles form in front of him. Though he knew Doyel had heard him he had kept on walking until they came upon an elevator and he hit the arrow going down.

"Hey! What's with this? I can't turn!"

Doyel rolled his eyes. "What? You think he'd let you in here while still a vampire? Please, he's got more sense than that, and there's the fact that we're all more or less figures..."

"He?"

The doors opened to an empty elevator and both of them got in. "Him. Her. The Big Guy. The Head Honcho. What other names does the One need?" He hit a button on the wall. Ground floor.

"God?" Spike chuckled. "So he really does excist."

"Yeah, isn't much for socializin' though. That's why I'm here."

Spike scoffed. "He couldn't see me so he sent some guy that worked with the Great Poof. Perfect."

"Hey. I've done my fair share in keeping the world intact. Think I deserve a little bit of power."

"This is power?"

Doyel shook his head. "Talking to him is. His speech isn't exactly what you'd call English. If you'd meet him in person, your head would explode from it."

He raised a brow.

"It's true! Had to go through all this installment crap in order to become his right hand a."

The doors opened into a brightly lit hallway. Here there were no people, or at least not a lot. He didn't need his nose to know that. He couldn't hear anything even if he did have the human sense of hearing. The sound of their steps echoed off the walls, carrying out from room to room.

A few of the doors were cracked open and Spike was able to take a gander inside of them. On his left there were, what seemed like machines, that held people up. They were just standing there, eyes closed with their hands at their sides, floating in mid-air. Then when he turned to his right, he saw people. Or more specific conscious people. They were staring at something in a large basin, which he couldn't tell what it had in it. Some of their expressions were unreadable, blank stares the only essence of their face. Then there were other who were smiling, crying, so hysterical he was sure they were going to spontaneously com-bust.

"So...These rooms...they're... what?"

Doyle pointed absently. "In these rooms is where we keep those who have died but have not yet passed into out world or to put it another way, they're in a coma state right now, their thoughts stuck in the other dimension. Some of them are to be brought back to life in their own time, others will be reincarnated shortly. You wouldn' remember, but when ya died ya passed through a dimension that separates Earth and here. I mean...you wouldn't expect them to be right next to each other would you?"

They continued to walk down another set of hallways, the same thing happening in these rooms also.

"And on the other side we got the Looking Glass. Now, I'm not sure why it's called that, but it has to do with something about how you effected the real world when you were alive and those you left behind. That's why, when ya take a look inside of those big bowels there, you'll see what's happening to the people you spent you time with or who's life you affected. Now, that's where it gets tricky.

"See, with us we have to concentrate on the one person that we want to know about. If not, then it'll give ya a whole bunch of mess ya can' make out. Not to mention the fact that you don't always see what you want to."

Spike looked at him from the corner of his eye warily. "What? Like we make up our little situation to look in on."

He licked his lips and shook his head. "Nope, that's the thing. It shows you the truth, not what you want to see."

He snorted. "I thought heaven was suppose to be finding peace. What ever happen to that bit? Tossed it out the window?"

They stopped in the front of an empty doorway and looked inside to find a man kneeling before a basin, weeping.

"It's not about what you're able to get away from. Heaven gives you what you've made of your life and how you treated it." He gestured up and down. "This is who you are." He pointed toward the basin. "That's what you've made of yourself." Then he turned and continued on down the hallway without another word.

Once they made it all the way down, to the end of the hall, there was a closed door with the sign, 'Private Use ONLY'written across the top. When they reached it, Doyle dug something out of his pocket and recited something Spike, again, couldn't hear. Then the door swing open away from them and Doyle beckoned him inside. "Hurry it up then"

When he got all the way in, he noticed that it was empty. There wasn't anything, not even some scrapes on the floor.

"Alright." Doyle said. "This is the room we're gonna be using. It's Not a Looking Glass, instead it's more of a Looking facility. This room is where you're gonna see what's been going on back on Earth."

"Already? I only just died."

"Time passes different from this realm to the next, really there's no such thing as time up here. What's been an "hour" here's been a year there, or maybe a couple months. Can never keep track of that... So, I need you to do me a favor. Think good and hard about you're boy Charlie."

Spike looked up quickly. "He survived? But, he was bleedin' everywhere..."

Doyle bit his lip. "Depends on what you mean by 'live'. Spike's look was broken and Doyel put a hand on his shoulder. "Just do good and concentrate on him."

Spike shrugged away his touch. "Why? What is this all about? Shouldn't I been gettin' situated into the place before I go lookin' in on people?"

Doyle crindged and stiffened a bit. "Well...that's what this is about. That's why you have to take a look at what you left behind...Look, will ya just do what I tell you? I'll give you the details later."

Spike glared but turned away from him and closed his eyes. The last image of Gunn came to his mind, one that was mattered and torn. He was covered in blood, barely able to keep himself up, but still his old high and mighty self.

When he opened his eyes he wasn't in a white room any more. There wasn't anything white about it. The walls were covered in slime. There was a small stream of water that was running between his legs and he was sure he had seen this place before. He was in the sewers.

When he looked around he found Doyle standing over something. It was small, almost child-like, the way it curled itself up into a ball. That was until a roar from its throat hurled out and bounced off the walls. Suddenly it was off its feet and running to the opposite wall, before smashing its fist into the cement.

It was Gunn.

Spike looked back at Doyle who nodded. Then he turned back to Gunn and noticed that his face was now distorted. Lines and ridges in it's face were now framing his eyes. He was furious as he started clawing at the walls, the floor, and then at himself.

Gunn had been turned into a vampire.

Spike looked back at Doyel, a painful wrenching pulling at his gut. "This is what happened to 'im. He became one of us?"

"Yeah, soon after the charge, the blood loss was too much and he collapsed to the ground. It wasn't enough that the one that got him killed him...had to turn him too."

Suddenly there was a noise behind Spike and Gunn got to his feet, straining his ears to hear the intruder. Then he snared and ran right through Spike and into the dark.

Spike was suddenly thrown into the white room again, his breath hitching from the moment lapse of composure. His brain reeled. Gunn had been turned? One of his closest allies and he had been turned. Someone who he had come to...wait...

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"That was Gunn...you saw-"

"No I know that! This." He gestured around them. "This place, what is it."

"Like I said Looking Room. Here, you don't only get to look in on what's going on down there, but you get to go."

"So...we were just on earth?"

"Nah, think of it as a huge holographic tv. Instead of looking at it, you're in it...Now." He clapped his hands together. "Time to tune in on the man himself."

Spike raised a brow. "Angel? You want me to see Angel?"

"Yep. Go on. Make with the thinking."

Spike closed his eyes again, the image of his brooding face capturing his attention until he felt a sudden suction at his feet, weightlessness, and then nothing.

This time they weren't in the sewers, but not much better. This time he was in a dark alleyway, a cool breeze just nipping at his back. It was night, and there was no moon out. No stars of any kind. Just the flickering of the nearest streetlamp as the only source of light.

Then he saw the figure cowering in the corner. There he was. All Tall Dark and Forehead was kneeling in the corner of the darkness, holding something to his mouth. His hair was longer, only by just a few inches, barely to his ears and his face was black, covered in the remains of dirt and soot.

Spike edged his way toward him and stared. "So he went back to 'em did he? Why?"

Doyle shrugged. "Turns out that after you loose everything in an apocalypse, it turns you right back to crazy...and there's the whole factor of the humans..."

Spike's neck strained from the jolt he gave it, wheeling around so fast, he thought there'd be some damage later. "What?"

Doyle rocked on the balls of his feet and a grim expression captured him. "After you and Gunn went down, Illyria went mad and nearly took out an entire street block. She left though, deciding that it would be better to find carnage where carnage was needed. She knew her efforts were futile." He gestured toward Angel. "Then it was just him. Couldn't do it all by himself, could he? So he finally gave in and ran. Stayed underground until he found out about Gunn. Hit the streets again, that's when he found out that the demons were harboring the humans for later. Dinner, draining, the whole works.

"Now he thinks it's all his fault. He'll feast on rats, from what I'm told, for another hundred years, until he pulls himself together."

Spike looked behind him one more time at the lost figure. Then he looked back and Doyle and nodded. "Right..." he said slowly. He stood there for a while as Spike continued to look down at the curled for of his grandsire.

"Why doesn't he go on and off himself, then?"

Doyle didn't waver. Sure this was going to be asked. "'Cause he's a cowered...just like the rest of us."

In the hundred years that he had known his grandsire he had heard stories. Things that demons had seen Angel doing if they happen to cross paths. Spike had never seen it with his own eyes. He had never really seen him brought completely to his knees. It took the world to get him there.

Then they were back in the white room, feet firmly on the ground.

The expression Doyle gave him next, one that begged him not to ask, said it all. He knew who's turn it was that he was suppose to visit. He knew since Gunn, that he would have to see this. He knew this was going to hurt even worst than the last two. If they had taken LA with thoughs kinds of numbers, there was no telling what had happened around the world.

His eyes closed and the image appeared into his brain. No matter how many times he had pictured her over the years, he would never get over how beautiful she looked. The way her smell would lift on the wind and captivate his nose or the way her arm would attack with such grace.

Then he felt the cool breeze on his face. There was no light behind his lids, only a blackening tint that he knew wasn't a good sign.

Then his eyes opened.

He glanced around the house with an even look. The wallpaper was torn in pieces. The couches and chairs had holes in them and what was left of the carpet was a sickly brown color. There was also a heaviness in the air that he couldn't quite zone in on. A thick sheet of humitity hung low in the air, nearly to suffocation.

Then he saw an image he had been dreading.

There she was.

She was there.

And she was beautiful. Her hair was a mess, loose strands hanging from its hold at the back of her head and her natural color seeping into view. Her face was covered in dirt, dirt that had gotten underneath her fingernails and straight into her pores. Dark circles had taken their place under her eyes, no doubt from the amount of sleep she wasn't getting. The clothes that she wore were worn. The colors were faded and the edges of the seems were only thing that seemed to still be intact was the leather coat that she wore...She was beautiful.

She was pacing back and forth with her arms crossed over her chest. Her face was furious, glancing out of the window every few moments. Then she ran her fingers along her hair and for a moment something flashed on her left ring finger against the dim lighting of a streetlight outside..Then she whirled around, with a moment of pure relief washing over her.

The door of the house swung open, all of its occupants walking inside. Dawn was in the front, looking no better than the rest of them, who seemed to be other innocents. None of them he reconized. Some were men, others young girls.

"You're twenty minutes late." Buffy walked up to Dawn whose arms were full of bags, her face back to it's earlier expression.

Dawn shrugged. "We got caught. Had to take the long route."

Spike took a moment to notice how much she had changed. Not just by appearance, but by features. Instead of her straightened back which had told others just how high she held herself, her back was slumped slightly with a sense of heaviness. Her face too had aged with a weight of too much wisdom, that was beyond her years. No way should a 19 year-old have lines beneath her eyes.

Niblet.

"Well, if you would have gone when I told you to, then you wouldn't have been caught. Would you?" Buffy took the bags from her arms and set them on the nearest table. Then she proceeded to walk to the front door and pulled something down. A metal plate that covered the door swooshed down and locked into place. She moved toward the window she had been watching through and closed the shudders and slid down another plate of metal, similar to the one on the door.

When she got back to the center of the room, she grabbed the bags and glanced around at the others. "Quiet hour starts in five minutes. Get to your rooms."

Then she fled to the storage room to stock their supplies, her face grim. No sooner than Spike had started following Buffy in her steps, there was a horrible bang on the door. His head whipped around and pinpointed the spot just as Buffy rushed out to the crowd that had made itself near him.

"You let them follow you?" Buffy hissed. The axe in her hand came up into a fighting stance.

Dawn shook her head repeatedly and started to shake. "No... No, that's why we took the long route..."

Buffys eyes were locked on where the noise was coming from as a horrible howling came from the other side of the door. "Looks like we've been found out."

Spike remembered screaming. There had been a loud noise as the door was broken down...and then he was back in the Looking Room.

Immediately he turned toward Doyel. His voice was full of rage. "What happened?!"

Doyle shook his head, running a hand over his head. "You don't wanna know what happened, I'm sure. Realy though? I don't know. That was something for you to see, not me. I was only along for the ride, so to speak. He didn't fill me in on everything this time."

Spikes fist tightened so his knuckles were white, a snarl emitted from his throat, and he was thrown back.

When he recovered, he looked up at Doyle.

"Anti-violence shield. Something we had installed in here just in case."

When he was to his feet, he shook his head and let his eyes close. Suddenly the heaviness of his leather coat and combat boots started getting to him. "Why are ya showin' me this?"

Doyle licked his lips and stepped back slightly and out of arms reach. "Because. I've lived my life. Both as a human and a demon. So have the others...you though, you haven't quiet lived them out."

Spiked head snapped up. "What? The midget at the gates said this was right. I was suppose to die this time."

"Yeah, ya were. You were also suppose to die the first time when that Goddess got to ya, and when that slayers kid got a hold of ya." His head shook. "You were suppose to die a lot. But every time, somehow, you were able to cheat it. So every time you were made to die diffrently, an' though you did die successfully this time...you still have time left, time that was made up by someone else...You're an anomaly. Not much you can do with an anomaly but use it."

Spike squinted at him in slight confusion and complete with a glare. "You want me to go back. To that."

"Now don' go gettin' any ideas. I'm jus' the messenger remember? It aint me who's puttin' you all up to this, but na. No, you wouldn' be goin' back to that." Doyle paused. "You'd be goin' back. About four years before that."

Four years...four years was...that was with Glory. That was when hellbitch had shown up. His eyes widened.

Doyle laughed. "How wha' good would ya be if you were dead. Nope, you just gotta make sure she doesn't happen."

Spike thought about it. "No Ben means no Glory. No Glory means no rip. No rip means no First..." His voice was quiet. "Means, Buffy doesn't die...I won't have a soul?"

"Well we can' have that. How will you be able to change anythin' if you don't remember. If you stop her, then you stop the First before it even begins. You don't die and come back in the amulet to play a part in the apocalypse that can't happen because you can't be used, and all is well...But there is a catch..."

Spike was fully to his feet now, his glare boring into Doyles skull. "And?"

"You can' tell anyone abou' the future you had. You can' risk them changing anything else. That kind of information is too powerful to let anyone know." He waved his hand at him. "This isn't something you have to do. You can stay here and let it carry itself out. Or you could go back and change all of it."

Spike thought back to what he had been saying. Being with the slayer for as long as he had, he had noticed it was good to pay attention to the little things. "Time from who?"

Doyle looked at him directly now with a sense of caution and grief. "Buffy. You'd have 147 days."

Spike stood still, his hands thrust into his pockets with an expressionless face on. He stared at the man standing before him with his eyes unfocused mind at a stand-sill. "You're sayin' she wasn't suppose to die?"

He rocked on his heals, trying to figure out just how to phrase his next sentence. "Well...she wasn't suppose to die. They're were...others who were suppose to jump in her place. She was never suppose to jump from that tower...just like you were never suppose to fall from it..."

Spike stared blankly in a random direction. "It was suppose to be me. I was suppose to take some of their blood an' jump, right? I was the one who was suppose to die?"

"Technically speaking..."

Spike glared at him in his dumbass-ness. "There's nothin' technical 'bout it. I was the one who was suppose to jump. I was the one who was suppose to die. Not Buffy. Never Buffy."

Doyle remained quiet. He wasn't sure how to respond to that without repeating the obvious. It wasn't his fault if he took it wrong. He wasn't allowed to say anything more htat what he was told to. There wasn't anything they could do about that now. But he could stop it before it ever started.

Spikes silence started to get to him.

Doyle looked at him with conviction. "So...Is that a yes? What are you waiting for? Christmas?"

Spike looked at him expecting. "You shouldn' even have to ask." His voice was hard, with too much emotion bottled up to tell which which was the dominant cause of he features.

Doyle nodded and waved his hand. "Come on then. We got some ground rules to cover."

Spike followed him out of the room and down the path they had first came. Doyle walked in front, facing him and counting off the things Spike wasn't allowed to do.

"Now when you go back I'll have just died. Even while I'm up here, I'll have no memory of any of this, that also goes for any of the rest of use except for him, so don't try to contact me or anything, cause that'll just cause a whole mess of problems, dyin' before you did. Then there's the time issue. Now, I know about your thing with the slayer, but don't let it get in the way. You only have one chance at this. We can't do this again until it's too late."

They were at the elevators now, their hurried step had carried them faster back. Doyel pressed a set of symbols, even Spike couldn't understand.

"Then we have the telling thing. You can't let anyone know about what's happened in this future. If you do, it could cause them to do something out of the ordinary and destroy everything. So you have to make sure you don't act funny around them or anything. You know Buffy isn't going to die, dont' act like she is, act just like you did before, only with more...conviction I think is the word."

When the doors opened, they came to a one long hallway with no other points of entry besides the door at the far end. This door though, apart from everything else Spike had seen so far, was a dark tint of brown.

Doyle continued as they walked down the hall. "Tara too. You can't let anyone know how she died before. All you can do is discreetly help warn them all about Warren and Willow's magic tricks."

When they made it to the doorway Doyle stopped and looked at Spike.

"This is where my train gets off."

Spike stared at him.

"Well go on. The thing itself is basically an instruction manual. You'll do fine."

Spike turned to look at the door and heaved a sigh.

So how many times was this now? His second time being sent back to be used to save the world from being raided and pillaged by hordes of demon life? Yeah, had to have been the second. He remembered the first time it had hurt.

"Hey, what happens if I get myself-" He turned to look back at Doyle only to find that he wasn't there. "-killed."

Guess he'd just have to welcome it then and hope for the best.

He reached out to twist the brass looking knob on the door. It opened into a pure white room, a cylinder podium in the middle of it. Something was shining too, something small and gold.

As Spike stepped up to it, it became clearer about just what it was.

The object had a sphere as a center, writing written on it from all angles. Then there were six rings that circled it, getting smaller as they came out. Then the figures got clearer, numbers written so small, from one to sixty on all of them. There was a pin that connected them to the sphere at bolth sides of the circular object.

Spike looked around one more time, only to notice...absolutely nothing.

He picked up the object, letting the metal contrast against his hand. Then he brought it to eye level and noticed how the rings started to move.

He took one of the pins in between his finger tips and twisted it backward, the first time he rotated it, the smallest circle went in a full circle. Then the second one started to move, only slightly. He picked up the pace, letting the largest ring, rotate ever to slowly until it made 3 revolutions around the sphere.

When all the numbers were lined up from one to sixty.

He took in a deep breath through his nose. He nostrils flared all the way out for a moment until he let out his lungs full of air. His hands started to shake and he could help but set the object back down for a moment. Then he took a few steps back and ran his hands through his hair.

He continued to back up until his back hit the wall, then he crouched down and let his head fall back to rest against the barrier. Something was beating rapidly in his chest. He wasn't sure if it was his heart. He hadn't had one in so many years that he couldn't clearly remember what it felt like to have one that actually worked and wasn't just used as a target. Also, the fact that he was dead confused him to a point that he would even begin to think how he could have one.

Then his mind started reeling.

This was happening way too fast. Maybe he was dreaming. He's had a few that were out there Like one of the last he had which involved some trunks, some tanning oil, and someone he knew was half-way around the world. He wouldn't be surprised if he woke up at some point soon.

He nodded to himself and stood up. That made sense. So he stood, his arms spread out from his sides. He had heard somewhere that if you hit the floor you die in your sleep. Most likely not and he'll wake up, either way he wins. So he let his eyes close and he fell freely, a slight breeze hitting his face on the way down.

Until he landed on the floor with a loud thud and his something cracked. Ok. Pain wasn't suppose to be possible in heaven, right?

"Bloody fuck!"

He gripped at his nose and slid back into his previous crouch against the still white walls, nodding to no one in particular.

"Right. Not a dream. Real."

So now idea B:

He was now going to go back to a time when he was fully hated. Back to a time when it didn't matter about all the shit he had done for the Scoobies, or the "Angel Avengers", or the world. Now he would go back to a time when Buffy hated him, Xander shoved this in his face, and he was going to get tortured to near death.

Just wonderful.

It didn't really help the matter that he wouldn't even get to be there very long.

147 days was such a short time for him to prove himself and make things right with so many things that had gone so wrong.

He got up off of the wall and started toward the object slowly. His fingers trembled as they touched the metal, holding it in both of his his left first two fingers pinched the edge of the pin. He held still for a moment and then closed his eyes.

The edge of the pin was pushed in and the next moment the coolness of the metal was gone, a light breeze swept across his face, carrying the scent of his surroundings. Even through his thick leather coat he was able to feel the concrete beneath his feet.

He was home.

~*~

A/N

Well dear lord, whatever will he do?

Oh and by the way....OH MY GOD! I love Doyle. I was so pissed that they took him out after only one season. He deserved at least one more. At minimum.

Reviews are welcome and the more that come the faster I'll update...*hint hint*