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Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all the characters that appear on the show are the exclusive property of Joss Whedon, the WB and Mutant Enemy, Inc.
Author's Notes: The character of Gabriel was introduced in a previous story I wrote entitled 'Divergent Paths'.
PROLOGUE: A FEAR OF THE DARK
Michael sifted through a pile of loose grave soil by the weak silvery moonlight. Damn it! This town was sitting on a Hellmouth, how hard should it be to find a little corpse fungus? Without it, he wouldn't be able to complete his spell. Then, how would he ever get her to notice him?
He sat back on the grass and sighed roughly. As usual, things were not going as smoothly as he had planned. Nothing ever did. If it wasn't bullies giving him a hard time, it was his father getting on his case about his hair, his clothes, his friends. Okay, he didn't really have any friends. But if he did, his Dad would probably have something critical to say about them. The man had enough to say about everything else in his life.
Maybe that was why Michael chose to dress in basic black and paint his face and wear silver cross earrings. At least people noticed him this way. The attention he got was not often positive, usually he just got beat up. Being ignored would have been worse. That was the main reason he had taken up the black arts. Magic made him different. It made him special.
Only no one really seemed to care. Until she came along. Willow was brilliant and sweet and nice. They had a lot in common, too. Like him, she was a budding wicca and more than a little different from the average person. Unfortunately, she had a boyfriend. But he would take care of that. Just as soon as he found some corpse fungus.
As he reached for a fresh clod of earth, a shadow fell across him and he immediately regretted risking a venture into the graveyard at night. His blood ran cold and his heart dropped into his stomach as he heard a low lion-like snarl behind him. Oh, damn! He jumped to his feet and ran as fast as his feet could carry him. A sharp-nailed hand clamped tightly around the back of his neck and jerked him from his feet. Michael's body tensed and he jammed his eyes shut fearfully as he felt the vampire pull his collar aside and expose his throat. It was bound to happen to him sooner or later. People in Sunnydale got killed by creatures of darkness all the time. Even losers like him were worth something, if only as a source of blood.
He heard a meaty thunk and the vampire released him, dropping him roughly to the ground. Scrabbling backward on his rear, Michael looked up to see what had happened. Silhouetted against the moonlit sky, a tall dark-haired young man squared off with the vampire like a boxer. The young man ducked under a violent swing and snapped three blindingly quick punches into the creature's face. Dazed, the vampire staggered and fell onto its back. The man dropped to one knee and slammed a sharpened stake of wood into its chest. The vampire burst into a cloud of ash and blew away on the wind.
"Uh, thanks." Michael rose to his feet and brushed himself off. Again, he owed his life to another person, someone who was actually competent. He wondered if it would be rude to just slink away home now.
"Don't mention it." The young man said, tucking the stake into his boot, "I hate vampires."
His voice held a hint of an accent. British maybe, or something else that sounded sophisticated. Michael got a better look at him as he stepped into a clear beam of moonlight. He was older than Michael by a few years, maybe in his early twenties, with sharp, handsome features. The stranger was taller than most of the jocks he had known from high school and had a better build, not bulky but well-formed. Michael felt an intense stab of envy strike his heart.
"It's pretty late to be hanging around a graveyard, don't you think?" the stranger observed.
"I was working." Michael answered darkly.
"You're a wicca." The stranger looked him over with a vague disdain in his dark blue eyes, "I figured as much."
"I-I have to go." Michael turned his back and started for the graveyard's gate.
"Wait." The stranger called, "My name is Rafael."
Michael slowed but kept walking. All he wanted was some fungus and a little privacy. Was that too much to ask?
He turned enough to be half-facing the newcomer, "Rafael, like the archangel."
"Yeah," the stranger hooked his hands into his pockets, "I'm looking for someone. His name is Gabriel."
Michael paused in mid-step. Gabriel. He knew the name. He was the one who was always with Buffy Summers lately. Another annoying pretty-boy. Another one of HER friends. What were the chances of two guys both named after archangels knowing each other? Michael didn't really care. For a short time he had tried to change his name to Nightro because he had thought it sounded exciting and cool. He had gotten beat up twice as many times that week.
"Why?" Michael asked, his eyes narrowed, "What's it to you?"
The black-haired man smiled to himself, "He's my brother."